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ROADSIDE GLIMPSES OF THE 
GREAT WAR 



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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 





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Probably the only German military pass to Paris since 1870. 
Given to Mr. Sweetser by the commandant at St. Quentin. 



ROADSIDE GLIMPSES OF 
THE GREAT WAR 



BY 
ARTHUR SWEETSER 



ILLUSTRATED 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1916 

All rights reserved 



< 



Copyright, 1916, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1916. 



Nottonnli 'H^xtee 
J. 8. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
NorwoG^, Mass., 



FEB 17 1916 

..Oi^I.A4 18857 






MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I 



I. The Lure of War 

11. From the French Lines to the German 

IIL In the Wake of Von Kluck 

IV. Prisoner of the Germans . 

V. Prisoner of the French 

VI. Uhlans and Taubes .... 

VII. A Report to the State Department . 

VIII. Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 

IX. Prisoner Again 

X. How A Spy would Feel 

XI. From France's Calmness to Belgium's 

Agony 

XII. Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 



23 
52 
81 

105 
130 
148 

159 
180 
207 

227 
250 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



^ Probably the only German military pass to Paris 
since 1870. Given to Mr. Sweetser by the 
commandant at St. Quentin . . . Frontispiece 

PAGB 

French mobilization order. Bearing the imprint of 

1 904 facing 1 4 

~ " Herr Arthur Sweetser of Boston (Mass.)" is 
allowed to go from Valenciennes to Cambrai, 
from Solesmes to St. Quentin . . . " 50 

" German communique to the French ... 64 

, Ruins of Senlis, twenty-five miles from Paris, where 
the mayor and sixteen councilmen were shot 
and the main streets put to the flames as Mr, 
Sweetser bicycled in under guard . . ** 91 

■ " Self-styled journalist " is freed to go to Paris after 

having bicycled across the lines . . . " 143 

" French requisition order posted as inscribed on the 

official bulletin board of Germigny I'Eveque ** 173 
" M. Arthur Sweetser living at Villers-Cotterets " 

is freed once more to go to Paris . . " 226 

- *' For five weeks Lille had been rasped to a 

frazzle" " 237 



ROADSIDE GLIMPSES OF 
THE GREAT WAR 

I 

THE LURE OF WAR 

"Flash!" snapped the telegraph operator in 
a voice set and hard from an unparalleled week's 
strain. I jumped to the telegraph instrument. 
The operator spelled off : 

" G-E-R-M-A-N-Y D-E-C-L-A-R-E-S W-A-R 
O-N F-R-A-N-C-E." 

The instrument was snapping angrily. Opera- 
tors all over that vast nerve system of the United 
Press were working as they had never worked 
before. 

Bulletin. Berlin, August 3. Germany of- 
ficially Declared War on France to-day, 
etc., etc. 

The newspaper world had gone wild. For a 
week we had been standing on our heads. Servia 

B I 



2 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Refuses Austria's Ultimatum, Russia Mobi- 
lizes, Germany Declares Martial Law, Eng- 
lish Fleet under Sealed Orders, ultimatums, 
mobilizations flying back and forth, flashing 
from capital to capital, jamming one on top of 
the other over the wires, editions tumbling out 
as fast as the presses could turn them off, the 
whole world in tumult — Great God, what would 
be the next news ticked off ? 

By noon of that memorable August 3, my 
nerves were completely gone. How puny and 
trifling the work of the Boston bureau of the 
United Press seemed ! How absurd to sit there, 
almost literally swallowing cigarettes from ex- 
citement, while the whole world was going 
wild ! 

"Bert," I said to the operator, "I'm going 
over. I want you to do the little Bureau work 
left ; I'll get another operator to take the wire." 

It was 4.30 P.M. 

No, said the steamship offices, there's not a 
boat going from the whole Atlantic seaboard, 
everything's cancelled. What, I asked, Boston 
and New York both t Yes. Montreal t That's 



The Lure of War 3 

so, yes, there was a boat from there, the Vic- 
torian, sailing the next day at 10 a.m. 

The last train connecting left that evening 
at 8.30. 

From 4.45 to 8.30 to get reservations and gold, 
close the house, pack, and say good-by. And 
all the banks closed ! 

I phoned Thomas Cook. - 

"Please get me ticket to Montreal on the 
8.30 to-night, reservation on the Victorian, some 
gold, and hold the office open till I get there." 

"We have no gold," came the reply. 

Fortunately my cousin was head of a large 
brokerage company. Gone for the day ! At 
last I reached him on the long distance. Yes, 
he would make me a personal loan and phone 
the office to stay open till matters were arranged. 

On the way down I picked up Cook's man, 
who went to witness the validity of the check. 
We tore back to his office where reservations all 
the way to Liverpool were waiting. Ten pounds 
and about 100 francs was all the gold they could 
give me, and that at a terrible premium. The 
Cunard line added a few pounds more. 



4 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

It was now 7 p.m. Only the packing remained. 
A taxi rushed me home. By good luck, the 
laundry had just come back, and I took the 
whole package as it was under one arm and a 
suitcase under the other. Unfortunately, as I 
found out later, the .laundry that week contained 
no pajamas, but instead a large bed-sheet, which 
accompanied me to the front. There was just 
time at the station to buy some sandwiches for 
supper, without enough to say good-by to the 
family over the telephone. 

The next morning I was on the Allan line 
steamship Victorian. We dropped down the St. 
Lawrence to Quebec. 

- "England declares war on Germany," greeted 
us from all the headlines as we dropped anchor 
off the Chateau Frontenac. Three German 
cruisers were reported off the Gulf; the time of 
our sailing was absolutely unknown. For two 
days we dangled at anchor there, and then, 
under heavy convoy, set out in a little fleet with 
five other vessels to run the gantlet of what- 
ever Germans were on the high seas. By day 
we were nearly invisible through a new coat of 



The Lure of War 5 

black paint; by night all leakages of light to the 
outside were made impossible. The windows 
of the smoking room were so heavily wadded 
with paper that before the evening was under 
way it was nearly suffocating. Only the scantiest 
wireless messages came to us on the trip ; the 
main topic of conversation was the truth of the 
report that thirty-five German war-vessels had 
dared battle and been blown up. 

At last we came to the coast of Ireland, not 
southern Ireland as is customary, but way up 
in the North. Wireless orders sidetracked us 
into an unknown little harbor for a twelve-hour 
wait; then we were allowed to go on again. 
Finally, we put into Liverpool, seventeen days 
after we had set sail from Montreal. 

"One hundred thousand troops have landed 
in France," greeted us here. Ten thousand more 
were just going out that day; 25,000 had left 
Southampton in the last twenty-four hours ; all 
England was moving to the battle-front in France. 
The harbor simply teemed with excitement. The 
wharves were crowded ; men were swarming all 
over the welter of ships at the piers, everyone 



6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

was rushing, shouting, excited. Even before we 
were allowed to land 200 nondescript human 
derelicts from the wharves of the city filed up 
our gang-plank with saws, hammers, axes, mallets, 
and every kind of tool of destruction. As we went 
down to Customs,, there came to us the noises of 
pounding and ripping which indicated all too 
well the conversion of our good old boat into a 
commerce-destroyer or a transport. All of us 
rushed to the first train to London ; all of us 
felt that there indeed we would find the nerve 
centre of the British Empire. 

How magnificent, how inspiring the soul of 
Britain was in this awful hour ! 

Though man was involved in the most direful 
cataclysm in history, though civilization was 
suspended, stock exchanges closed, commerce, 
news and travel discontinued, though the world's 
nations were flying at each other's throats, and 
12,000,000 men hunting each other like wild 
beasts, even yet England remained calm. No 
hysteria, no wild panic had shattered the English- 
man's imperturbable restraint. Well indeed he 



The Lure of War 7 

knew that his magnificent Empire, built up by 
years of self-sacrifice and slow accretion, might 
come toppling to the ground ; yet hardly for a 
second did his self-possession waver. For ten 
years he had watched the German militarist 
storm rising across the North Sea ; for ten years 
he had been reconciling himself to the inevitable 
clash ; and when at last it came he took it almost 
as if for granted. 

The self-possession of London during that last 
week of August, 1914, was incredible. Life was 
quickened somewhat ; there was, as it were, a 
slight catching of the breath, but hardly more. 
The great English battle-fleet tossed about in the 
Channel awaiting a world battle, but London went 
its way. An Expeditionary Force landed in France 
for the first time in 100 years, yet London kept its 
calm. Newspaper extras came forth in rapid-fire 
succession, yet London remained imperturbed. 

Now and then a company of soldiers passed by. 
There was a swing and a business-like attitude, 
almost a sombreness, about them which com- 
pelled a hush from the few who stopped to watch. 
They came from nowhere and disappeared into 



8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

nowhere, no bands, no flags, no cheers ; only 
tense, serious faces. There was tragedy indeed 
about this blind devotion to country; yet one 
thrilled at it as the stuff that empires are made 
of. Occasionally, too, recruits could be seen 
drilling in some of the parks or machine-guns 
being moved across the city. Occasionally, sen- 
tries were encountered pacing back and forth 
with fixed bayonets, as at the Bank of England. 
But except for these few signs, one would never 
have guessed that the English Empire was hang- 
ing in the balance. 

Yet do not mistake this for indifference. Far 
from it; London was stirred as it had not been 
for a century. Everyone realized that a death 
struggle was on ; that the great world structure 
which England had raised up would either 
crumble or glide into smooth waters for another 
lOO years. The spirit of England was too well 
tempered for hysteria ; she set about laying 
foundation-stones for a titanic effort with an 
almost cold thoroughness. The press was splen- 
did in killing false reports and maintaining 
secrets of the Expeditionary Force. The Prince 



The Lure of War g 

of Wales, the Queen, and the Queen-Mother were 
all busy gathering funds ; the people were quietly 
organizing for their fearful task and its yet more 
fearful consequences. 

Withal, the crisis drew forth all that is finest 
in English character. The Irish civil war was 
laid aside. Several serious strikes were silently 
suspended. The government was acclaimed by 
all parties with tremendous enthusiasm. Down 
in the deep reaches of the Empire's make-up, 
there was, moreover, almost a religious ' fervor 
for the war. The Kaiser's challenge to English 
Empire, sea-power, * and trade was the obvious 
cause of conflict, of course, but even beyond that 
was a real hatred of the system the Kaiser stood 
for, and as German force bade fair to impose 
German militarism and lack of constitutionalism 
on unhappy Belgium, England's anger rose even 
higher. As one Englishman, with true English 
bluntness, put it to me : 

"The Kaiser's getting a bit too thick; it's 
time to draw his teeth." 

The capital of the British Empire is grim 
enough even in peace times. Heaven knows, for 



10 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the hard hand of history and the dampening 
fogs have left behind their unmistakable traces. 
Centuries of struggle have aged and matured her. 
The Continental wars running back to the roots of 
history, the Napoleonic cataclysm, and within the 
present generation, the Boer disasters, have scarred 
and seared her spirit into a placidity and imper- 
turbability not unlike that of her old towers and 
castles. Storms have broken over her as they 
have broken over the buildings which go to com- 
pose her, but they cannot destroy. They merely 
further solemnify the weather-beaten old city. 

But to me, as an American, a poor cousin as 
it were, from across the seas, the most touching 
aspect was the solicitude expressed on all sides 
for American sympathy. It was the reaching 
out of a nation in its hour of peril for the moral 
approval of its nearest kin. More than this was 
not expected, but significant indeed it was of the 
old saying that blood is thicker than water, that 
England, settling down to a long struggle for 
her empire, should have looked with fond hope 
for the moral support of the only people who 
had ever left her flag. 



The Lure of War ii 

La France ! 

With what anxiety, with what loving appre- 
hension we saw your shores come slowly Into 
shape out of the distance ! How was it Indeed 
that we should find you now that the Prussian 
hordes were once more after forty years flooding 
across the frontiers ? As our little Channel 
boat danced gracefully over a kindly sea, we 
strained our eyes as If Instinctively to sense the 
spirit which moved you, calmness or panic, con- 
fidence or fear. In an Incredibly short time we 
glided gently alongside the pier at Boulogne. 

Flags, crowds, soldiers, noise, bustle, excite- 
ment, burst upon us in one animated, perpetual- 
motion, ever-shifting medley. Boulogne was a 
seething camp, crammed with nervous humanity, 
smothered in fluttering flags. It might have 
been a great gala day, a big festival, if one could 
judge by the hubbub and excitement. The calm, 
the self-possession, the stolidity from which we had 
just come faded away into a mere vague memory. 

Could it be — yes — by George it was — a 
group of Tommies strolling along the pier. Tom- 
mies ! At last the Great Mystery was solved. 



12 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

So here it was then that England's tens of thou- 
sands of troops had gone ; hither it had been 
that these silent battalions had marched off 
through the night. For ten days all England had 
known that something was going on under the 
surface which could not be mentioned ; for ten 
days the papers had maintained silence while 
65,000 men were spirited across to the Continent. 

Tommies were everywhere, walking, riding, on 
the street corners, alone, in groups, or joking 
with the natives. The women and girls had 
received them with all the ardor possible to 
French enthusiasm ; had at first embraced and 
kissed them, and later flirted outrageously with 
them, till as one of the Tommies put it to me : 

"It was jolly fine fun for a while, but we're 
getting awful fed up with it now." 

The first to arrive had been literally showered 
with flowers as they marched through streets 
bedecked with English flags to their camps. 
Such wild enthusiasm had never been seen before, 
they told me. The freedom of the city was theirs 
in every way. And yet withal, the Tommies 
remained indifferent, almost stoical. They were 



The Lure of War 13 

friendly, perhaps a little curious to know why 
anyone "Was kicking up such a beastly fuss " and 
rather coolly amused at the great hit the Scotties 
made with their kilties. But beyond that they 
were rather bored with it all. Evidently they 
had come over to fight and did not know how to 
be frivolous. 

No less than five times I had to show my pass- 
port before I could leave for Paris, once on 
landing, then at Customs, on entering the station, 
on getting a ticket, and finally on boarding the 
train. We left Boulogne at 7.30 and should 
have arrived at the capital at 11.30. Instead 
we hitched, poked, and shunted along in ner- 
vous gasps, while troop-trains rumbled by under 
right of way. At last we arrived at Amiens, 
where our train was commandeered and we were 
herded into another. There for three solid hours 
we stuck. Heavy troop-trains ground in, rested 
a minute, and ground out again. Small knots 
of nerve-worn, exhausted Frenchmen gathered 
under the flaring station lamps to speed them on 
with sincere but rather wan cheers. Tommies, 
blinking with sleepiness, smiled out of the cars 



14 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

where they were penned like cattle, or waved 
farewell from among the snorting artillery horses. 
Occasionally there intervened a long, grim, silent 
train with the hungry barrels of heavy artillery 
pointing forward out of the tarpaulin as if already 
snuffing blood. Inexorable indeed. How many, 
I wondered, of those cheerful Tommies were 
going but to their graves 1 

At 2.15 A.M. we resumed our way once more. 
Four of us, cramped in a small compartment, 
knotted up and slept what little we could between 
snaps, jerks, and whistles. As dawn broke, we 
looked out to see the whole countryside alive 
with red-pantalooned, blue-coated French sol- 
diers, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, moving 
through the chill dampness direct across fields 
and over dales. War never sleeps. 

At last, one minute past 7 a.m. we arrived in 
Paris, almost twelve hours after we had started 
on a three-hour run. 

One who loved Paris could not but be filled 
with anxiety during those first few days as to 
what she should be in her hour of trial. The 






[[.eII 



ORI>R 



HOBILIMIOV (iElll4U 



Par dt'orol ilii Pn-xident ilc l.i K<'-|>iilili<|iK'. 1h iu<>l>ili«H(i(>ii dvi nrmei* de lerre el dn oier I'sf 
ordonnpc, aiusi i|iif la n■<|lli^4iliull das aiiimuiix. v()i(uro» vt Imiiiais nw'iisiilren an compi^ni>'iit 
de c«K armees. 



Le premier jour de la ni .lisation est le 



Tout Fraiiv«is suumis aiix oWijialioKs niili(airi-K doil, soils *hip d'l'lre puni H>tK toiile la 
ri(,m-ur d«>« loU, obt-ir nn\ prej>cii|>liun« du FASCIHITZiE SK Si03ttMAT101I I'imfios toIoim-.x 
piao'es danu son livret). 

Soai -rises piir le present onlre TOtTS I.E8 H0MBEE8 uoii pros.-iits sons les. l>rniK'n«x vt 
appurtenant : 

1° a I'ARMEE de TEBRE }' rompris les TBOVFEf. OOI^IOUSS et les inonimes d,« 
■EBVICES AtXIUAIBEa: 

2° a rARMEE K MER > rompris les nricBiTfl takaxraqfa et le.'. ASKxrassss 

deir MUUUHS. 



L«3 AutoritAs ci^ales et mlHlair 



; responsables de IftxecuLion An prftsent diorel. 



French mobilization order. Bearing the imprint of 1904. 



The Lure of War 15 

war was now but three weeks old ; the Germans 
were just beginning to leak through Belgium ; 
the first hysteria of excitement had changed into 
the mechanical reasoning of campaigns. How 
indeed would Paris act, Paris the gay, the care- 
free, the irresponsible ? 

At first all seemed much as before. The 
boulevards were crowded. Women brought their 
knitting to the Champs-d'Elysees as they had 
always done ; men were in evidence in plenty. 
The city was nearly smothered in flags. Every 
building, nay almost every window, boasted its 
tricolor. Sprinkled generously among them were 
not a few English flags, many Belgian, and now 
and then a Russian. At first the capital of 
France seemed festive. 

Slowly, however, the change flooded over me. 
Everything was tense and sombre. People looked 
stern and serious. The cafe and boulevard crowds 
no longer whiled away the hours nonchalantly ; 
they talked in low, serious tones with hardly a 
smile. Never was there the agitation of former 
days except when an extra was screamed through 
the streets ; then everyone became excited and 



1 6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the pages were scanned eagerly, fruitlessly. It 
seemed indeed as though Paris lay hushed and 
still awaiting the next extra. Apparently that 
was the one real reason why people continued to 
go to the cafes and boulevards. 

On shop after shop were signs *' Mobilise" or 
"Ferme pour la Mobilisation." Theatres, mov- 
ing-picture houses, and many shops were closed. 
Evidences of the cessation of ordinary living chilled 
one at every turn. Troops were everywhere, in 
the cafes, in the Bois, or marching through the 
streets. Always they were given preference, as 
much in entering trams as in the graces of the 
hero-loving French women. The sale of absinthe 
had been forbidden. That curse under which 
France had struggled for years was thrown off 
with one great moral convulsion. Above all the 
national health must be conserved. The demi- 
monde also suffered. Comediennes, models, and 
others upon whom a pleasure-loving public had 
long frivolled its surplus savings were now re- 
duced to a terrible struggle for existence. It is 
thus indeed that society in time of stress casts off 
its parasites. 



The Lure oj War 17 

But It was at night that the terrible changes 
stood out most sombrely. Where before Paris 
had once bedecked herself in myriad lights there 
was naught but dulness. What had been long 
scintillating rows of cafes where care-free people 
dallied tinkling glasses through the long evening, 
had ceased to be. It was now only the bare 
business of eating. By 9 o'clock the outer chairs 
on the sidewalks were collected and piled up ; 
by 9.30 every cafe was closed as black as a tomb. 
The few people still out hastened surreptitiously 
home through the darkened streets. 

Paris waited, waited, patiently at first, then 
nervously, for the news which was not given. 
Up North something was happening, big events 
were shaping themselves in Belgium. There 
was much enthusiasm about the holding out of 
Liege, and not a little wonderment that the 
Germans were nevertheless miles south of there. 
News trickled down atom by atom, never com- 
plete or satisfactory, always late, always vague. 
Criticism at times was harsh, especially when 
the plan to send five correspondents, Including 
an A. P. and a U. P. man, was continuously 



1 8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

postponed. Many Parisians felt they were being 
treated like children, and asked if they had not 
shown themselves big enough to stand disaster. 
Had it not been for a tremendous fundamental 
confidence in French arms and in a combination 
of an appreciation of the military need for se- 
crecy and the feeling that no news is good news, 
Paris would certainly have lost its head. As it 
was the German avalanche was on them almost 
before they suspected it. 

During these first three weeks, for default of 
anything better, Belgium, Liege, England, and 
Russia filled the papers. The bravery of Bel- 
gium served as a beacon light for the French. 
That gallant little country was hailed with an 
air of reverence. Likewise the calm, solid sup- 
port of England steadied the French tremendously 
and made them feel the ground firm underneath 
them. The awesome union of France, England, 
Russia, Belgium, Japan, and Servia in one great 
concert against Germany glorified the French 
conception of the war almost into religious fervor. 

Paris indeed had become a new city. The 
mirth and song of her life had ceased. The 



The Lure of War 19 

blight of war had penetrated to her very marrows. 
The light and sparkle had gone, but in their place 
had come a bigger and finer thing. The veneer 
of frivolity, irresponsibility, and excess had been 
scraped off. There stood revealed a patriotism, 
a self-sacrifice, a determination almost glorious in 
their intensity. The strength of a nation which 
had been waiting for forty years was ready — 
splendidly husbanded, splendidly directed, and 
strong in the memories of Austerlitz and Jena. 
It was this spirit which made my waiter say : 

"Monsieur, I go to mobilize to bring back my 
grandfather who fell in '70." 

Five days passed almost in a twinkling. No 
sooner however did I begin to feel at home in the 
new Paris than the great events outside called 
me. Paris was grand indeed, but it was not to 
see Paris that I had come abroad. A vague but 
dominant force rose within me ; I could not sit 
idly by in cafes while world history was being 
decided in the country just outside. 

I don't know what it was ; whether it was that 
stupefying, bewildered confusion which brings the 
moth to the flame, or the nervous, uncontrollable 



20 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

curiosity of our American life ; but certain, it is 
that I was helpless against that appeal. My 
whole heart and soul was trajected out of Paris 
to the dim, hazy fields of Belgium whence now 
and then the censor let escape a real spark from 
the roaring furnace beneath. What was happen- 
ing behind that thick veil t 

More and more often I dropped into the Ameri- 
can embassy which was even still an uproar of 
ill-behaved, stranded fellow-countrymen and weak, 
rather frightened Austrian and German civilians 
who had come under our care. I asked first one 
official, then another, till finally I screwed up 
courage to speak to Captain Parker himself, the 
military attache. 

" Lille ! " he exclaimed. " But what in Heaven's 
name do you want to go there for .?" 

"Why," I stammered, not quite sure myself, 
"I remember reading somewhere that it's a 
fortified city." 

"Yes, but it may be attacked any time." 

" I know," I answered desperately. " That's 
why I want to go there. The Germans are 
pretty sure to pass that way from Belgium." 



The Lure of War 21 

"But, my dear man," Captain Parker burst 
out, "you could never get there. Not even a rab- 
bit could get through to Lille." 

"Why not.?" I asked. "Is there any rule 
against it.?" 

"Common-sense ought to tell you," he added 
stiffly. "Common-sense; this is war. Not even 
a rabbit could get by now." 

Thereupon I went to Phil Simms, Paris 
manager of the United Press. He at least would 
encourage me. He knew France, for he had 
been there six years. 

"Lille!" he exclaimed. "Good Lord, you 
might as well try to break into Heaven. You've 
got as much chance as a snowball in hell." 

"But how do you know.?" I persisted. 

"Know, you darn fool, why, this is war; war, 
real war. The French don't allow tourist parties. 
Where's your common-sense .?" 

" Common-sense " again ; that was too much. I 
too figured that it was war and that everything 
was topsy-turvy. The most expected would fail 
to happen ; the least expected was quite likely to 
happen. So I went to the railroad station. 



22 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Third class to Lille." This was said boldly. 

"Oui, monsieur, fourteen francs, please," and 
the ticket was handed out to me. 

"No rules, restrictions, passports?" I asked. 

"No, monsieur, why should there be.''" 

"Common-sense," I almost ejaculated, but 
didn't. And I walked confusedly out thinking 
of Captain Parker's rabbit and Simms' snowball. 



II 

FROM THE FRENCH LINES TO THE 
GERMAN 

The next day, I was on the train for Lille, 
straight up to the North, straight towards the 
Belgian border, straight to the heart of that 
world-struggle from which we had seen only 
chance sparks. I had set out under the flush of 
the "glories of war," thrilled with thoughts of 
flags borne forward, bugles sounding charges 
men doing triumphs of bravery, shells, smoke, 
flashes filling the air in one mighty splendor. 

Towards Cambrai, we saw the first of it. We 
were on the main line of communications both 
to Paris and to England. Train after train of 
soldiers, both French and English, rushed past. 
Snatches of song, the Marseillaise, Rule Bri- 
tannia, or friendly greetings or jests in broken 
French and English floated back to us. Thou- 
sands of men, smiling and laughing, were rushing 

23 



24 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

on to annihilate their fellow-men. Did one not 
realize the horrible business of it all, the songs 
and jokes might have made it appear almost a 
colossal game ; but as it was, the cheery faces 
only heightened the immutability of the forces 
which drove them on. Our train hitched on, 
siding by siding. Every mile or so we stopped, 
backed on to an odd track, and gave right of way 
to a rushing troop-train. Always we alighted to 
see anything that was to be seen and to enjoy the 
warm sunshine of a beautiful day. Just south of 
Marcoing, those who were first to alight shouted : 

"Les canons, les canons." 

The rumble of artillery came clearly to us out 
of the distance. Great Heavens, the Germans 
were well inside France ! What had happened 
in Belgium } How had they broken through 1 
What, even now, was going on in that spot 
towards which we strained our eyes t Did this 
tragic breaking of the silence in which we had 
lived presage another Sedan t 

For two hours we remained on that siding. 
Occasionally a German aeroplane was visible on 
the distant sky, circling around like an angry 



From the French Lines to the German 25 

vulture seeking the prey's weak spot. Train 
after train rushed by us. Curiously enough, all 
those going out were British, all those coming 
back were French. Apparently the Tommies 
were going out to hold the Germans while the 
French reformed below. Little we realized it at 
the time, but the battle we were there hearing 
from a distance was that of Cateau-Cambrai, 
where Sir John French's valiant Expeditionary 
Force just escaped annihilation. 

Soon came the first wounded. Englishmen 
huddled into common cattle-cars, having had 
only the most rudimentary treatment out front, 
and with no one to care for them on the way. 
Those in view were wounded in every conceiv- 
able fashion, arms, legs, and bodies, while behind 
closed doors lay men even then perhaps breath- 
ing their last. It had been literally a slaughter, 
they told us. On Sunday, 25,000 British had 
been entrenching near Mons when a German 
aeroplane spied them. Twenty minutes later 
125,000 Germans were on them. The artillery 
fire was fearful beyond words ; whole divisions 
perished to a man ; the 19th Hussars who alone 



26 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

could charge were completely obliterated. Finally 
the British retreated and the Germans ran into a 
trap. The French cut in on their flank. What 
then happened Heaven knows. Not a man I 
saw from the front that day but felt amazement 
at the Germans' mighty military prowess ; with 
some it was a mania. 

The men returning from the front had a sad- 
ness, a pathos, a bewilderment in their expres- 
sions which all too well bespoke the whirlpool 
into which they had been drawn. There was a 
blankness and a dulness in their eyes which be- 
tokened almost complete mental dismay. The re- 
actions of many of them were too unreasonable, 
too out of perspective to be believed. Many, 
kindly and gentle in appearance, boasted to me 
of the most gruesome of deeds — deeds which 
ordinarily would have shocked them, even in the 
telling. That delicate something within man, 
call it soul, spirit, psychology, what you will, 
had in thousands of cases been smashed so com- 
pletely that future generations will suffer far 
more from its effects than from all the physical 
injuries and disabilities put together. 



From the French Lines to the German 27 

One Tommie I remember who had been in a 
bayonet charge just before. He was leaning 
Hstlessly against the door of the car, his eyes 
fixed in unseeing gaze on an open field beyond. 
A sadness enshrouded his still figure which made 
me hesitate to intrude. As I spoke in a low, 
impersonal voice, he looked up indifferently, and 
relapsed almost at once into absorption. Then 
unexpectedly, in droning, mechanical fashion, he 
told me how his company had become trapped 
in the trenches by a German crossfire. 

"We were going down like flies," he said, 
"and it would have been the end of all of us to 
have stayed any longer in that trap, with machine- 
guns squirting on us from both ends. About the 
only thing we could do was to make a run straight 
at 'em — at least we'd die standing up. God 
knows anything was better than crouching there 
till we were all cleaned out. We couldn't even 
fight, it was just waiting." 

By now the dulness had left his eye, and a 
ring come into his voice. 

"It's funny," he went on, "how little things 
count. When the order came, I jumped over 



28 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the earthworks and then went sprawling over a 
head of cabbage. It seemed as though I'd never 
get to my feet again. Bullets were nipping all 
about me; the enemy's trenches looked like a 
long line of red ; seemed to me I was as big as a 
giant with some one catching at my feet and all 
those guns going at me alone. 

"I don't remember much more. There was 
one big final crash and I leaped on the top of 
the trench and began to stab. Once I remember 
reaching out to get at someone and stepping on 
the face of a dead man at my feet. God knows 
how long it lasted — not long I fancy, for then 
they broke and ran. 

"It was an awful mess all about. Dead and 
wounded all mixed up — lots of Germans and 
many of us. Then those bloody machine-guns 
opened on us again. I tried to pull one of our 
fellows into shelter, but my right arm was out of 
commission. First I thought I was wounded. 
Then it came to me. I'd been swinging my 
bayonet so hard there wasn't any strength 
left." 

His eyes clouded again. 



From the French Lines to the German 29 

"My God," he went on softly, "if I could 
only forget. It's all a nightmare now — still I 
can't help wondering — maybe the blows didn't 
get home — maybe — " 

He turned his face away. 

Two hours later we started on our way again, 
not on towards Lille, for that road was indeed 
blocked, but back in a wide sweep to Amiens. 
Our carriage, before badly crowded, was jammed 
almost to suffocation by the cramming in of 
eighteen Belgian refugees, driven they knew not 
whither. Opposite me was an old lady with 
seared face, bright sparkling eyes, and a white 
ruffled bonnet tied under her chin. She was at 
least eighty-five years old, and, I wager, had 
never before left home. With her were several 
big scrawny men with rough farmers' shirts and 
finger-nails fresh from the soil, three young girls, 
and a various assortment of children. 

Only two days before they had been wakened 
in the blackness of night by the screeching of 
German shells bombarding Charleroi. They had 
had only time to gather their children before 
fleeing pell-mell, penniless, and without food into 



30 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the darkness. For a whole day they had had 
nothing to eat. At last at 4 o'clock we came to a 
station where French soldiers rushed joyously to 
them with bread. That scene was only one of 
the tiny back-eddies of war, it is true, but it 
went into the very depths of human emotions. 
Three Frenchmen in the carriage with me actually 
had tears in their eyes, and told the sufferers that 
they had only to show their colors in France to 
receive the bounty of a grateful nation. 

At last at 10 P.M., twelve hours after we had 
left Paris, we ground heavily into the big station 
at Amiens. What a sight ! Wave upon wave of 
refugees wandering aimlessly under the flare of 
the arc lamps, French and British soldiers here 
and there in groups, train upon train steaming in, 
hitching about, and then running out into the 
blackness, — such was the chaos and confusion 
about us. Black-robed ministers and priests 
were stalking about to administer the last rites ; 
a long Red Cross train with steam up waited for 
the next load from the North. 

The refugees, homeless and crazed with fear for 
loved ones left behind, walked about distractedly 



From the French Lines to the German 31 

or sought sleep on the hard platform floors. 
Women lay on the few bundles which remained 
of all their worldly goods. Children were curled 
up beside large packs. Once, stepping over a 
prostrate sleeper I put my foot squarely into his 
derby hat, lying at his stomach. And when at 
last I arrived at the lunchroom I found there was 
nothing to be had but a few cakes and chocolate, 
not very substantial food indeed for my only 
meal since breakfast. 

Two long hours we stayed there, waiting. 
Still that silent death's procession to and from 
the front. What was happening out there 
through the blackness .'* At last we got under 
way. Heaven knew whither, except that it was 
in the general direction of the battle. All night 
long we hitched our way northward, constantly 
being sided for troop-trains, and several times 
stopping for nearly an hour in the blackness of 
the open country. Somehow I dared not sleep, 
but preferred to stay awake while darkness faded 
into dawn and dawn into daylight. 

At 7 o'clock our train ended its weary way 
almost with a groan of satisfaction. I looked 



32 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

out to see an odd little town of white walls and 
red roofs, absolutely foreign to anything French. 
In considerable bewilderment I turned to a French 
reservist who had just come back from the 
cotton-mills at Woonsocket, Rhode Island. 

"Where in the world is this place .f"' I asked. 

"Hazebrouck." , 

"Where the devil is that.?" 

"Flanders." 

"But what the devil is it built like.?" 

"Flemish." 

"But what in the name of goodness are we 
stopping for ?" 

"It's our destination." 

"Destination ! " I exclaimed. "Where's Lille ?" 

"Twenty-five kilometers East." 

"Aren't we going there.?" 

"No, it's on another line." 

"But what in the name. of Heaven are we going 
to do then.?" 

"Wait." 

"And the battle, the war — stay cooped up 
here.?" 

"Je ne sais pas, Monsieur." 



From the French Lines to the German 33 

And we landed at the little Flemish town of 
Hazebrouck, just on the edge of Belgium, twenty- 
five kilometers from Lille, and twenty-three hours 
after leaving Paris. 

At once we went to the prefect of police, a 
small army of about twenty-five reservists and 
myself. Rather ominously I was held till the last. 
The prefect was a very self-important person with a 
long black beard and snapping eyes. The moment 
he saw Uncle Sam's big red seal, he snorted loudly, 
drove out the French-American who had stayed 
to help me, settled back in his chair, and flew at 
me with a volley of French which I could no more 
stem than I could have stemmed Niagara Falls. 
I stuttered out that I was an American, and then, 
with no idea of what the passport was, he settled 
his big seal on it and herded me out of the ofiice. 
Lille was open ; the rabbit or the snowball was 
safe. 

But that was by no means getting there. 
After a horrible breakfast and an earnest attempt 
to remove a little of the night's grime by aid of 
a faucet in a dirty back yard, we went to the 
station. No trains would run all morning. 



34 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Great Heavens, marooned in a sleepy village, 
twenty-five kilometers from the centre of world 
history. The only way I could keep my temper 
and my wakefulness was to write all morning as 
I had written all night. 

By lunch-time even the Frenchmen were worn 
out with waiting. Two set out for Lille on foot ; 
others hired the town's one automobile. Both 
twenty-five kilometers and twenty-five francs 
seemed big to me, but it was another long time 
before I ran down a messenger who was just about 
to drive back to Lille. An interminable ride it was,' 
after our sleepless night, for from 3 to 8 we jolted 
along in a tireless, springless wagon. My only mem- 
ories are of heroic efforts not to jounce on to the 
road in my sleep, of interminable stops for beer at 
red-tiled inns dotting a magnificently rich country, 
and of a pretty French woman nursing a won- 
drous golden-haired child, who asked if we spoke 
English in America or had a language of our own. 

At the little town of Armentieres we descended 
from our good wagon and waited around in the 
cold damp rain for a tram which by some acci- 
dent was still running spasmodically. Another 



From the French Lines to the German 35 

half hour and we were in Lille, the city to which 
not even a rabbit could go, the city the chances 
of reaching which were as good as "a snowball's 
in hell." 

Lille had stopped completely, no work, no play, 
only waiting. For seven days there had been 
no trains, no mail, no telegraph, no government. 
Not a soldier remained, for the forts had been 
dismantled, the garrison withdrawn, the city 
decreed open and unfortified. No defence was 
possible ; the higher strategy felt it necessary to 
sacrifice the city to greater ends. Big flaring 
posters begged the citizens to be peaceful when 
the Germans entered. 

The papers came out intermittently, always 
without news. The only news at all was that 
borne of supercharged imaginations. For all 
that was known France might have ceased to 
exist. Wild rumors, both of victory and defeat, 
sprang from nowhere, surcharged the air, encom- 
passed the city. Memories of 1870 and wild 
stories from Belgium made all Lille quiver like a 
raw nerve. Suspense hung like a pall over the 
city. Something must happen. It was as 



36 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

though a giant genii had mummified all life into 
inactivity. 

During my stay reports of a few stray Uhlans 
in the environs at once sent the rasped nerves of 
the city completely a-j angle. Crowds gesticu- 
lated on every street corner. Speculation was 
wild. It was the occupation at last, atrocities, 
indemnity, and all. There was above all fear, 
with a certain relief that the suspense was at last 
ended, and a deep grief that the city should be 
thus sullied. 

But the Germans did not come ; they had 
more pressing business elsewhere. Nevertheless 
fear of them so haunted the city that it was 
finally decreed that anyone spreading sensational 
news would be arrested and forced to give his 
authority. How this could be done with all the 
police force gone I do not know, but doubtless it 
hushed many a clattering tongue into silence. 

The government of the Departement du Nord, 
of which Lille is the capital, had fled pell-mell to 
Dunkerque on the sea-coast. One day during 
my stay they returned, and post, telegraph, and 
train service were resumed. The people were 



From the French Lines to the German 37 

jubilant. The German goblins vanished like a 
hideous nightmare. Imagine the panic, however, 
when the very next day it was found that the 
government had fled again in the night. 

It was obvious that even if the Germans 
entered Lille at all, it would be only with a 
small holding force. The main army was driving 
through farther east. Douai, they told me, was 
the centre of activities, but how to cover the forty 
kilometres there was a poser. At last the idea 
of a bicycle struck me. It would be quaint in- 
deed thus to chase the battle-front blindly all 
over France. After a whole day's hunting and 
tremendous linguistic effort, I secured the best 
the city could offer, the best bicycle, I soon 
believed, in all France, a machine which, costing 
me but $23 secondhand, was destined to take me 
half across the country. 

Then to have my passport vised. The few 
relics left over from the fugitive city government 
shunted me on from one to the other as if com- 
pletely astounded at my proposal. At last I 
arrived before the grand factotum himself. He 
growled menacingly at me, and more menacingly 



38 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

at my passport. When he heard I wanted to 
go on to Cambrai, he snapped out that I was 
most suspiciously following the armies. So that 
was where they were then 1 but I hastened to 
tell him of two American girls I was trying to 
locate. It didn't go. The dates on my pass- 
port were all against me. The game was up, I 
thought, and quickly forgot all the French I 
ever knew. Here's where I go down as a spy, 
I was just thinking, when suddenly down came his 
pen on the passport, and I found myself booked 
for Arras. Arras t I looked it up on the map as 
soon as I could and found that there were more 
ways than one of getting there. 

So I bicycled out of Lille, for Arras, via Douai. 
What in the world would I blunder into in those 
forty kilometres t French, Germans, battles ; 
danger or peacefulness t Inn after inn I stopped 
at — for it was hot work bicycling — and always 
it was the same story, husband, son, or brother 
gone, dead for all that was known these past 
three weeks, nothing left but misery, suspense, 
abject fear, and utter defencelessness. What 
nerves the dull-witted peasant women of Northern 



From the French Lines to the German 39 

France have were worn into such a frazzle that 
nothing was too terrible to fear of "les barbares." 

At last, with considerable trepidation I entered 
Douai. To my amazement, however, the Ger- 
mans had not yet come there. The atmosphere 
was even more electric than at Lille ; the slightest 
clatter down any side street at once magnetized 
a gaping crowd into activity. Trains, post, 
telegraph, and newspapers had ceased eight days 
before. Once I saw a small crowd apparently 
mobbing a single man, who turned out to be only 
a poor newspaper dealer with a few old Lille 
papers. Occasionally a Red Cross auto tore in 
from that mysterious land of the front, dashing 
recklessly through the streets and covered thick 
with dust. Crowds at once gathered in the hope 
of a few crumbs of news. 

Only once did I see that fear-ridden crowd 
laugh. That was when a heavy wagon clattered 
down the street with three men in front carrying 
giant carrots cut out to represent the Kaiser. 
There was the helmet, the upturned moustache, 
the jaunty head, and all. The laugh, however, 
was nervous and half-hearted and soon ceased. 



40 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Still I don't suppose any other people in the 
world but the French would have thought of 
such a thing at such a time. 

Again it was obvious that I was on the wrong 
scent. The map showed Valenciennes to be the 
next big city eastward and I set out without 
loss of time to get my passport vised onward. 

"But the Germans are at Valenciennes!" 
exclaimed a pompous chap, and he went off at 
once to get another official. Out came a fat 
little man with staring eyes who seemed to be the 
big nabob. 

"But, Monsieur," he protested, "there are Ger- 
mans there." 

"I know," I replied. "They won't hurt me." 

"But," he stammered, "the Germans, the bar- 
barians — " 

"Yes, but I'm an American." 

"And you want to go to Valenciennes, where 
all the Germans are?" 

"Yes," I replied. "I'm crazy, stark crazy; 
nobody will harm a mad man." 

He burst into a roar of laughter and went out 
to call the few other officials left in the building. 



From the French Lines to the German 41 

To them we gave a dress performance of the 
whole, at the end of which the Httle nabob, amid 
chuckles and "les Allemands," affixed his portly 
seal to my much-abused passport. That after- 
noon he met me in the square and a second 
time explained about the Germans. At dinner 
at the hotel I saw him again, still chuckling and 
talking about "les barbares." 

Off I started the next day for Valenciennes, 
sure at last of meeting the Germans, uncertain 
of everything else. I confess, too, that I could 
not but absorb some of the terror about me ; I 
could not but wonder what they would do to a 
lone civilian bicycling aimlessly about. With 
every turn of the wheel the tenseness seemed 
greater. Every kilometer of the thirty-five to 
Valenciennes the German phantom became more 
life-like. All the way the stagnation and loneliness 
increased. Harvests were rotting ; few people 
were In the fields ; more were at the crossroads, 
waiting, waiting. 

At last I came to Aniche, a dirty little town 
with two main cross-streets, roughly cobbled and 
wet with filth. Every doorstep was crowded 



42 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

with women and children and a few old men, 
all ready to turn and run, all animated by terror, 
sustained by curiosity. The fear was so choking 
that I stopped to inquire. "Les barbares" were 
just entering. 

Crash ! they were there at the corner. Up 
snapped their horses' heads ; to either side the 
great helmeted men peered with burning inten- 
sity. Uhlans ! The whole village winced. Chil- 
dren ran behind their mothers ; women made 
ready to flee. — Mediaeval indeed, a page from the 
Crusades ; it could not be the twentieth century. 

Suddenly two of the horses started towards 
where I was. The crowd ran helter-skelter in 
absolute terror. For a second I stood alone in 
the road-way like a marked man, with my suit- 
case strapped to my bicycle and a straw hat on 
my head. Believe me, I lost no time in getting 
to a doorway with my precious machine. For- 
tunately, however, it had been no more than a 
bolting horse. Shortly the people returned, quiv- 
ering but still curious. Sadly, bitterly, they 
watched the division ride past, impotent to do 
anything, their own men way behind them to the 



From the French Lines to the German 43 

South, they themselves absolutely at the mercy 
of the big, stalwart, fearsome-looking warriors 
whose march was thus forever engraven on their 
memory. It made my soul sick when word was 
whispered back that "les barbares" had taken 
possession of the town hall and requisitioned 
luncheon. 

Now indeed I was within the German lines, a 
pretty pickle indeed, I began to fear. In four 
days I had swung around the French and British 
flanks, from the French and British rear to the 
German rear, and was hearing the same battle 
which I had heard only a few days before from 
the exactly opposite side. What would they 
say when they found me 1 The die was cast ; 
I might as well go forward as back. Without 
warning a big gray automobile burst upon me 
with frightful speed. I thought my bicycle was 
gone ; but no, the machine tore on into the dis- 
tance, unnoticing. 

Dimly, faintly, I began to hear a dull rumble 
to the south, a sound like far-away thunder, 
grim and sullen. As I advanced, it separated 
into the distinct shocks of heavy artillery. By 



44 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the map I could see that the line extended from 
Cambrai through Le Cateau to Maubeuge. Here 
indeed was the clash of the nations, cruel, primi- 
tive, savage, where the world's most momentous 
issues were being adjudicated by mere brute force. 

Just at sunset I stood on a little hill looking 
down on the white spires of Valenciennes. It 
was the main German headquarters of Northern 
France. Should I go down } Certainly I could 
not put my head more completely into the 
noose. I had no German papers and nothing 
but an American passport showing how in five 
days I had circled up from Paris around the 
French and English flanks to the German 
rear. What would "les barbares" make of it 
all 1 And what good reason could I give them 
for being there anyway ^. A long, long time 
I waited. At last there appeared an educated- 
looking Frenchman. 

"Monsieur," I said, "I'm an American. Is it 
safe to go down .f"' 

"Perfectly," he replied. 

"But can one enter the city?" 

"Certainly." 



From the French Lines to the German 45 

"No guards?" 

"No, Monsieur." 

"No sentries?" 

"No, Monsieur." 

"No need of passport?" 

"No, Monsieur." 

I could not believe it. Surely my French 
must be wrong. One could not enter the main 
German headquarters unchallenged. To win his 
confidence, I showed him Paris papers a week 
later than any he had seen and gave him news 
of the capital. His joy knew no bounds ; I was 
sure that he would not deceive me. I descended 
the hill; approached the city gates gingerly; 
entered ; passed through ; found myself un- 
challenged in the city of German headquarters 
of Northern France. 

Ah, Valenciennes, you were indeed a stricken 
city. Helpless under the iron heel of the Ger- 
man military system, you were forced to house 
your bitterest enemies ; to give them of your 
best ; to see yourself made the base of a mighty 
blow at the heart of your country. Heaven 
knows how many thousands of hostile troops 



46 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

sullied your soil ; how many hundreds of busses, 
wagons, automobiles, thundered out of your gates 
towards the capital of France. Alas ! what a 
tragedy of helplessness ; the spirit willed but 
strength failed. 

You were like a great stricken animal, com- 
prehending all, suffering all, too weak to struggle. 
Your people looked on with piteous, pleading eye 
while Germans swarmed on you and over you 
like a pest of locusts. Sadness, gloom, despair, 
held you in firm grip, with never a smile to 
brighten the tragedy. For six days it had been 
thus. Before that the English had been here for 
three days, having come 25,000 strong from 
Dunkerque and Boulogne and rushed through to 
disaster at Mons. Shortly the Germans burst 
through Liege, swarmed on in immense droves, 
and flooded into Valenciennes in unestimated 
numbers. Hardly had the clatter of one regiment 
ceased than that of another began. Irresistible, 
inexhaustible, they swarmed on while Valenciennes 
choked down its straining heart. 

Never will I forget the dull agony of the Place 
d'Armes. On one side rose the great mass of 



From the French Lines to the German 47 

the crystal-towered Hotel de VlUe in all its 
Gothic beauty. High from its belfry flaunted 
the hated German colors. In its court and 
throughout its rooms stalked the dull gray of 
hundreds of German uniforms. In the centre of the 
square was a constantly changing stream of Ger- 
man soldiers, artillery, cavalry, and supply wagons, 
ready for the drive south. On the other side, a 
line of cafes filled with Germans and French alike. 
In one of them, the Cafe Fran9ais, I sought out 
the Mayor. He and his government had been 
driven from the picturesque Hotel de Ville and 
forced to take up their headquarters here to do 
what they could. A splendid picture of manhood 
he was too, flowing white hair, erect stature, and 
sparkling eyes. 

"Sir," I said, "I am an American journalist 
just from Paris. I have newspapers telling of 
the new French war ministry. Would you care 
to see them .f"' 

"Mon Dieu, yes," he exclaimed. 

"But not here?" I questioned. 

"Heavens, no," and he led me out of the 
crowded cafe into a small alley-way, up a rickety 



48 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

back stairs into a darkened room, where a group 
of what had been the city government greeted 
the news with boyish excitement. It was the 
first they had had for eight days, and it showed 
that France still lived. 

Now for the German commandant. Obviously 
I could not be caught without some sort of 
papers. It was better to face it out voluntarily 
than to wait for the inevitable challenge. I 
passed through the German sentries patrolling 
the sidewalk and stepped gingerly out towards 
the Hotel de Ville over what seemed to be a 
deadline for all but German gray. A score of 
soldiers were lolling about in the entry way of 
the Hotel de Ville. My request in English for the 
commandant turned all eyes on me most menac- 
ingly. It was the time when hatred for England 
was most bitter. Fortunately, one man under- 
stood me and explained that I should go to the rail- 
road station. I was glad indeed to go anywhere. 

Men half naked, men bathing, men gorging 
food, men marching, men sleeping on straw, Red 
Cross women flitting about, horses being led out- 
side, artillery bumping across the platform. 



From the French Lines to the German 49 

noise, confusion, a babel of talking and com- 
mands — such was the main station of Valen- 
ciennes on this, the first day of the opening of 
through communication with Germany. At last 
I located the commandant and hitched myself to 
him like a wagon to a star, careering after him 
through the jumble. 

"What do you want?" he flared between 
commands. 

"To go to Cambrai," I said. 

"What if you do .?" he snapped. 

"I suppose I need a German pass," I said. 
"I don't want to get shot." 

"You can't get there," he exclaimed. 

"Oh, yes, I have a bicycle." 

"My God, you Americans, you're everywhere 
— always ready." 

He was off like a shot out of a gun. I caught 
glimpses of his fat little body flitting about beside 
a train just in. Suddenly he dropped out of 
nowhere before me ; ordered me to come with 
him, and tore off down the platform to his office. 

"Where do you come from .f"' he asked. 

"Boston." 



50 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"That's a poor place." 

"It's the best city in the world," I exclaimed. 

"Don't talk like that to me if you want a pass." 

"Well, what city do you like then.?" I asked. 

"Philadelphia," he replied, and I burst out 
laughing so hard that he nearly dropped his pen. 
Finally, after admitting that Philadelphia was 
incomparable in the United States, I got my 
German pass. 

I could not keep away from the Place d'Armes, 
however; its tragedy fascinated me. At regular 
intervals the sound of iron heels of marching men 
pounding rhythmically on solid cobbles came to 
us from along the road from Germany. Another 
detachment swung out of the narrow streets 
into the square and goose-stepped onwards to the 
Hotel de Ville. A snapping command cut the 
air like a razor ; the detachment halted as one 
man ; another snap, and crash, the guns were 
grounded on the cobbles. Magnificent ! A few 
minutes rest and another thousand gray uniforms 
were off to the heart of France. 

Then a sharp siren screech as a single gray 
automobile, thick with dust and bristling with 



■tc^ 



[ . " 

I 






^^ %;«-M-t.<k.*-^^-t/t»X^ i.t^^y^ J'i^e^i^^t^^t^ 



^(/i. 






" Herr Arthur Sweetser of Boston (Mass.) " is allowed to go 
from Valenciennes to Cambrai, from Solesmes to St. Quentin. 



From the French Lines to the German 51 

the barrels of sharp-shooters' guns, burst into the 
square. A hurried Inquiry for directions while 
the engine still pounded, and off it tore to do Its 
murderous work. Again a huge bus trundled 
around the corner, and another and another until 
the square was choked with great machines and 
the air filled with noise and gasoline. Amid pound- 
ing engines and sharp commands a brief rest was 
taken before the whole avalanche in single file 
ground its way fatalistically southwards. In one 
division alone I counted seventy-eight machines, 
some standard army autos, some horse vehicles, 
and many nondescript conveyances. 

Occasionally there came groups of tragic French 
prisoners. All were sad, dejected ; many so 
downcast as to turn away their faces in shame. 
A bitter fate Indeed to be prisoner In their own 
country and led by the enemy through their own 
cities. The Germans lolled lazily out to watch 
them In contented fashion, much as a hunter 
contemplates a good day's game ; the native 
French stood wet-eyed and silent, their whole 
beings expressive of the agony that was In them. 



Ill 

IN THE WAKE OF VON KLUCK 

I WONDER if anything is more lonesome, more 
oppressive, than the work of a solitary war- 
correspondent seeking the battle-line in an alien 
country ? Surely it seemed not, as I left the 
comparative safety of Valenciennes to plunge 
south after the rapidly advancing Germans. In 
fact I was seized with a sort of unreasoned panic 
which made me take a wide detour beyond pos- 
sible sentries across stubbled fields and far out 
on to the main road. There, from behind a small 
hut, I watched for two solid hours the slow, meas- 
ured passing of a huge German convoy — autos, 
busses, vans, wagons — plodding steadily on. 
Grim, helmeted horsemen, looking all the more 
terrible from the heavy spears which seemed to 
itch in their hands, cast glowering looks towards 
the few natives who watched their passing. 

At last the road was clear and I bicycled off 
through a group of villagers, who looked at me 

52 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 53 

dully, dazedly, fearfully, as if I too had taken on 
the atmosphere of war. Now, however, all was 
quiet. The roar of artillery which had rumbled 
through this section just two days before had 
ceased. Absolute peace prevailed. I shuddered 
to think what that peace meant and what it had 
cost. One thing, however, it made crystal-clear, 
and that was that the long-boasted German dash 
to Paris was well on its way to success. The 
English and French whom I had seen rushing up 
this way two days before were evidently in rout. 
Therefore, I left the highroad and struck off pell- 
mell across country towards France's capital. 

Inn after inn I stopped at, for it was hot work 
bicycling, and there was always chance of picking 
up news. Scores I met of the peasant women 
who have made Northern France the granary 
that it is, women illiterate, bovine, stolid in 
feature and character, dirty in person and in 
home, sepulchral-looking in their black clothing. 
Not one of them realized the significance of the 
forces surging about them. Revanche, Alsace- 
Lorraine, 1870, may have been shibboleths in the 
cities, but amongst these poor peasant women 



54 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

they were absolutely unknown. Perhaps their 
attitude was best expressed by an old woman 
with dirt-incrusted hands, and, I was going to 
say, face, who kept a squalid little inn at an open 
country cross-roads. 

"Ah, Monsieur," — she was almost weeping, — 
"they're beasts, les AUemands, beasts. Why 
do they come down here t What do they want 1 
Everything was so happy a few weeks ago ; we 
had a good crop ; Jacques was just getting well 
again ; it was going along to fall — and now look 
at things." 

"See," she continued in anger, "they don't 
even pay for what they take. Look at what they 
gave me. They came in and took my best beer, 
and drank, drank, drank. When it was all gone, 
they cursed me. For two days they marched 
past — two whole days, Monsieur, pound, pound, 
pound past this door. Sometimes they stopped 
and swarmed in here and spread all over the room 
and talked their horrible talk and then gave me 
this and laughed." 

She held out a collection of marks and pfen- 
nigs. I used all the eloquence I had to tell her 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 55 

it was money and represented payment, but I 
might as well have argued with a mountain, 

"I don't want their German truck," she burst 
out. "Why didn't they stay where- they belonged ? 
What are they doing here ? For two days they 
marched past, two days, and then we heard guns 
down that way. For three days it lasted and then 
all was quiet. Where have they gone now, and 
what am I going to do with all this stuff.?" 

That to her was the war. Two days of march- 
ing Germans, three days of the noise of guns, 
quiet — a husband gone, crops running to seed, 
a store ruined, and a drawerful of worthless coins 
— what indeed did she care about Revanche, 
Alsace-Lorraine, Belgium .'* She, like so many 
others, may not have known how to live according 
to our standards, but God knows she knew how 
to suffer. Why indeed had a handful of rulers, 
diplomats, and statesmen belied their purpose in 
bringing misery to millions of sad-faced, suffer- 
ing women just like her "i 

At noon, with a blazing sun overhead and forty 
kilometres bicycling behind me, I arrived at 
Solesmes, hot, exhausted, famished. Streets were 



56 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

deserted ; houses shut. At two doors I rang ; 
there was an interminable wait as though the 
occupants were coming up from an abyss. 

"Mais non, Monsieur, the Germans have taken 
everything. There is nothing to eat in the city." 

And a pair of nervous eyes glancing up and 
down the street left no doubt that I was an un- 
welcome intruder. 

At last before the Hotel de Ville I saw life — 
a group of German soldiers in their dull gray, 
cheerless uniforms, lolling comfortably about. 
I rode boldly up, despite the fear that they might 
commandeer my bicycle, and lost no time in 
disappearing into a little inn. There for the 
first time I learned the war value of a cigarette. 
The look of suspicion shot out at me by a lone 
officer near by changed at once into longing when, 
for want of anything better to do, I took out a 
package. Carelessly I handed him one which he 
seized almost ravenously. From that it was but 
a short step to German headquarters and a rich 
meal in an abandoned French mansion where 
empty glasses, half-eaten food, boots and uni- 
forms already created a condition of filth. 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 57 

My friend proved most voluble and once more 
useful. After toasting the Kaiser and pretty 
near all Germany, he took me to a large house on 
the square from the lower windows of which the 
German commandant was holding court for the 
villagers. There, in a group of fearing, cringing 
peasants between one who volunteered to do Red 
Cross work and another who asked permission to go 
to the next town, I had my pass continued on to 
St. Quentin. With a cheerful smile the comman- 
dant said he would meet me in Paris September 4. 

So I pedalled rapidly on through the- hot sun 
after the German avalanche. Hardly a sign of 
life could be seen. Beautiful fields rich with a 
bounteous harvest stretched forth In picturesque 
undulations with no human being about. Little 
farmhouses cluttered with filth lay open to the 
world in hollow mockery. Even the quaint little 
village of Le Cateau, lying In a valley between 
two steep hills, could show only the dull gray of a 
few German soldiers. Whither, I wondered, had 
the country fled .^ 

Leaving the town, I soon topped the crest of a 
particularly steep hill. Smash ! outlined sharp 



58 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

against the sky were two angry field-pieces, sul- 
lenly, defiantly facing out across the valley towards 
Germany. Ugly scars — was it possible they 
were trenches — zigzagged here and there through 
the rich harvests. Empty cartridge shells in 
little piles, half-eaten meat and hard-tack, now and 
then a letter, cards, or a book, occasionally a 
khaki hat or coat, told their simple tale of the 
little human units caught in the vortex of war. 

Strangely, it was English, all English. It was 
the battlefield of the Cateau-Cambrai line, the 
strategic point where General French rallied 
his remnants for one last staying effort while 
the French concentrated about Paris ; the grave- 
yard whither the Tommies I had seen a few nights 
before from the other side had been rushing to 
bolster up their nearly annihilated comrades 
fleeing precipitately but valiantly from Belgium-. 
I learned the story later from a curly-headed 
youngster of twenty who had been one of the few 
to escape. Twelve hundred strong the regiment 
had left England. For thirty-six hours without 
cessation it had fought at Mons. For six days 
and six nights it had alternately retreated and held 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 59 

till the final graveyard was reached at the peace- 
ful spot where I now stood. For only eight hours 
the carnage had lasted, but at the retreat only 
300 men were able to leave. 

Sick at heart I ascended the hill further, to 
find a terrified French peasant hastily emptying 
his pockets of fragments of shells. He seemed 
in perfect terror lest he be shot for taking away 
a souvenir. 

"Ah, Monsieur, It Is terrible, this war. For 
two days I have buried dead men, two whole 
days, and then I thought they would let me go. 
But no ; I must now bury dead horses. It Is 
terrible, this war, terrible." 

Apparently he felt no further emotion, and I 
shook him off with a certain feeling of horror. 
No man could pass those new-made graves un- 
moved. The rough piles of earth scattered 
throughout the harvest and surmounted now 
and then by a cap or a rough wooden cross told 
a tale of heroism, of pathos, of homes desolate, 
which roused one's whole being into anger at 
human folly. The bounteous harvests which 
Nature had offered for man's happiness lay 



6o Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

crushed and mangled under the pounding of 
hundreds of angry feet. The streaming sun- 
shine and peace seemed a mockery, not to the 
brave men who lay near by but to that system 
which had made such slaughter possible. 

Reverently from the brow of the hill I stood 
for a long time surveying this last resting place of 
so many valiant men. The stillness of a profound 
peace rested over these once beautiful fields as 
though the last great struggle was over. The roar 
that I had heard coming from this spot for two 
days just before seemed only a hallucination. The 
terrible engine of destruction had passed onwards, 
leaving the field to the dead and the Creator. 

Sadly I, too, followed into the twilight as a 
beautiful new moon chiselled its way into the 
deepening skies. It seemed impossible that men 
were even then in the distance hunting each other 
like wild beasts. Yet on all sides lay mute wit- 
nesses to what had here been and was there going 
on. Big autobusses bearing the familiar names 
of large English commercial houses lay tossed 
on their sides after brief services as barricades. 
Every half mile came the stench of a dead horse 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 6 1 

and sight of a horrible swollen body, already 
rotting beside the road. 

As darkness fell and the night chill set in, the 
uncanniness of it all became accentuated to the 
lone bicyclist pedalling his way through this land 
of carnage. At such times everything in one 
seems to cry out for the life and warmth of a 
human habitation, and when at last I came upon 
a desolate-looking little inn, I waited long to 
rouse someone to let me in. At last, an old man, 
terrified lest I be the German army come back, 
told me with the utmost sadness that they could 
give me neither bed nor food. I could not 
believe it till he lighted me about the house, 
when the shame of it all stood out in full horror. 
Every room was strewn with straw, bottles, 
food, and filth. What had once been a home had 
in a twinkling been turned into a sty. My good 
friend, however, told me of a place two kilometres 
off the highroad where after much difficulty I 
found a house which still boasted a few eggs and 
some bread. There, though the battle-line was 
rushing on towards Paris and still out of hearing, 
I stopped for the night. 



62 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Early the next morning, leaving my kind host 
silhouetted against the doorway, his wooden arm 
raised on high, calling down all sorts of impreca- 
tions on the Germans, I set out once more to catch 
up with the invaders. Again it was one long 
succession of rotting harvests, decomposed horses, 
abandoned motor-trucks, and deserted houses. 
Roadway inns yawned even wider to the outside 
world, with broken bottles, fly-covered food, and 
sickening refuse scattered about in disorder. Three 
armies, English, French, and German, had left the 
country as a flock of carrions leave a carcass. 

Suddenly a field of blue — a field where blue 
coats and caps lent the coloring of the French 
soldier who had once been there. A few rudi- 
mentary trenches, piles of broken guns where 
surrender had been en masse — witnesses indeed 
to the half-hearted struggle of the half-prepared 
French force which had simply melted before the 
Prussian machine. Halfway into France though 
I was, it was the first sign of French resistance 
I had seen, and the pitifulness of it made me sick 
at heart. Later I learned it was the scene of 
what has been called the battle of St. Quentin. 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 63 

At last, towards noon, I made my way into the 
quaint old city of St. Quentin. The sombre 
gray of the German uniform had settled down like 
a pall. Crowds of foot-sore soldiers, all too en- 
vious of my bicycle, crowded the rough cobbled 
streets, while every now and then ponderous auto 
trains and field artillery pounded through. 
French in nervous groups gaped at blood-and- 
thunder manifestoes or hastily scurried from one 
place of safety to another. All human effort 
except war had ceased in this old city. 

Terrible news had been posted in the city that 
day. The French civilians, who all along had 
clung to the forlorn hope that Russia might even 
yet save France, were informed in blazing proc- 
lamations by the German Headquarters that the 
Russians had suffered a crushing disaster at Tan- 
nenberg. As I saw the heart-sick French gazing at 
these posters, one of which is reproduced herewith, 
I could not but marvel at that wonderful military 
organization which overlooks no detail, not even to 
taking all hope from the civilians of invaded terri- 
tory. The communique is so exact, so pithy, so 
absolutely final, that I give a translation herewith : 



64 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

GoDiniiiDiiiue 

dii Grand Quarlier Gwal 

des Atk Allcmanib 



Le 31 Aom 19i4. 

Par T. 8. F. 

Les succds de la bataille de Tannenborg 
centre la deuxidme armSe russe sont encore de 
beaucoup plus ixnportants que nous I'avions 
suppose au premier moment. Trois corps d'ar- 
m6e russes ont ^t6 compl6tement an^antis. Deux 
a^n^raux commandant les IS'*""* et 15'^' Carps 
d'arm6e russes ont 6t6 faits prisonniers. Avec 
eux 60 & 70,000 Russes sont tomb6s entre les 
mains des AUemands. Des parties du 1" et 6*"* 
corps russes battent en retrait.^da.ns la direction 
d'Ostrolenka. 

La deuxi^me arm^e russe, sous le comxnan* 
dement du g^n^ral de cavaleriQ Rausch de Fran- 
kenberg,a cess6 d'exister. 

Les premiere et quatrii^me arin6es autri' 
chiennes avancent victorieusement. 

Le ministre anglais avoue que de fortes pertes 
ont 6t6 6prouv6es. 

Le Gouverneur allemand de Namur mande 
que le butin de guerre comporte non pas 90 mais 
169 pieces de forteresse. 

German communique to the French. See opposite page. 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 65 

"Communique from the Great Headquarters 
OF THE German Armies 

"August 31, 1914. B7 wireless. 

"The results of the Battle of Tannenberg 
against the Second Russian Army are very much 
more important than we had at first thought. 
Three Russian army corps have been completely 
annihilated. Two generals commanding the 13th 
and 15th Russian army corps have been made 
prisoner. With them 60,000 to 70,000 Russians 
have fallen into the hands of the Germans. Parts 
of the First and Sixth Russian corps are retreating 
towards Ostrolenka. 

"The Second Russian Army, under command of 
General of Cavalry Rausch de Frankenberg, has 
ceased to exist. 

"The First and Fourth Austrian Armies are 
advancing victoriously. 

"The English minister admits that heavy losses 
have been suffered. 

"The German governor of Namur sends word 
that the war-booty consists, not of 90, but of 169 
fortress guns." 



66 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

The beautiful main square was one great Ger- 
man army camp liquid with the continuous flow 
of engines of destruction. The picturesque, 
many-spired seventeenth-century Hotel de Ville 
had been converted into army headquarters care- 
fully guarded by a cordon of sentries. By 
much effort I made my way through to a 
young orderly who spoke both English and 
French perfectly, and who at the same time 
vised passports for French peasants, allayed their 
fears, said they could go and come as freely as when 
the French flag flew over the city, and incidentally 
told me of the Kaiser's justification in going to 
war and the Allies' criminal aggression. 

"Would you like to see some English prisoners 
and an English colonel ? We've got a lot out in 
the rear," as though they were a bag of prize 
game. To my amazement he led me among them 
— a motley crowd of 250 Tommies and 200 
French. The Tommies, dirty, ill-kempt, and 
rather dangerous-looking, pressed forward toward 
me till it was with difficulty that I could get 
away to see their officer. Somehow, it's a most 
uncomfortable thing to be a free man among 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 6y 

prisoners, to know that at any minute the doors 
will open for you but not for them. 

"Yes, by God, I swear it, sir,"' he was saying, 
"Those dirty beasts caught us two days back, 
me and six others, and marched us at the head of 
the column right into the face of our own guns. 
You can't believe me — but by God, if you had a 
Bible, — and now for three days since we've 
rotted here, stones to sleep on, no blankets, no 
food, no — " 

An angry, growling furore rose behind me. I 
turned to see a group of Englishmen fighting 
almost like wolves for a piece of bread held out 
from a window above. 

"Ah, Monsieur" — it was a French prisoner, 
tears running down his cheeks, pleading — "it 
is ghastly. For three days now our English 
friends have not eaten. For three days the Ger- 
mans have given us nothing. We French get a 
little from our women who are allowed in, but 
the English — you see, they starve. Mon Dieu, 
I cannot stand it." And almost in a complete 
breakdown he gave me the name of a well-known 
Protestant minister in the city. 



68 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

I set out to see him at once. 

"Would you mind speaking English?" he said. 
"Perhaps it would be easier as I spent four years 
at Harvard." 

He listened to my story — listened with anguish 
lined deep in his finely chiselled features. It was no 
use, he said ; even the citizens themselves were 
starving. No trains for six days, every store com- 
mandeered, all breadmakers working twenty-four 
hours for the Germans, suffering, misery, lawless- 
ness on all sides — and, his gentle face hardening : 

" Sir, I am a minister of God, a disciple of Christ, 
but it takes every ounce of moral courage, every 
bit of faith I own, even to administer the last rites 
to those who have brought us this woe. I try, 
God knows, I try with all my power to fulfil my 
mission, but I am not strong enough. My faith 
says 'God save them'; my heart, 'God curse 
them.' " 

Sadly indeed I left him, not, however, wholly 
convinced that a little American enthusiasm could 
not even yet find food for the starving Englishmen. 
But as it was now four o'clock, I decided to get 
lunch for myself first. From cafe to cafe, store to 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 69 

store, shop to shop, I went — in vain. After an 
hour's hunt, the best I could do was a cake of 
chocolate and two beers ; for supper chocolate, 
three beers, and the last fatty slice of the last 
round of ham secured after mixing in a free-for-all 
fight with some German soldiers. After that I 
gave up thought of feeding 250 Tommies. 

I knew that nearly every hotel had been com- 
mandeered, so I started early for a place to sleep. 
I began at the better hotels, worked down through 
the smaller ones, till finally late at night I found 
an extra bed in a dirty little house way off in 
the slums, cost, one franc. Never did man pass 
such a lively night; everything seemed living 
and hungry. The next morning I was about 
to leave the house and all its memories behind me 
as fast as I could when the woman of the house 
offered me breakfast. I knew I could not expect 
food elsewhere in the city and I thought that 
eggs at least would be safe, so I returned to a dirty 
kitchen, where an ignorant, squalid husband was 
rocking in what was once a chair. 

The woman, a homely, chicken-chested creature 
of forty with high cheeks and prominent teeth, 



70 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

was busy getting breakfast and railing at the Ger- 
mans. She had gone on for some time when the 
man said unemotionally : 

"Tell him about it." 

She stopped short as she was putting the few 
rough fittings on the table and looked anxiously 
at her husband. 

"Oh," she said, "not that." 

"Yes," he insisted. "He'd be interested." 

For some moments there was silence while the 
woman thought. The husband continued rocking 
slowly in his rickety chair and the woman went 
over to see how the eggs were coming on. Then, 
all the time moving busily about getting the table 
ready, she began slowly : 

"Two nights ago there was a pounding at the 
door. It sounded bad, but we opened. Two 
German soldiers came in, drunk. They put 
their pistols against my husband's face." 

She was working more rapidly now and her 
husband had ceased rocking. 

"They demanded food. We gave it to them. 
They demanded wine. We gave them that too. 
And then — " 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 71 

The husband rose to his feet and glared towards 
me. 

"And then," he said, "they demanded my 
wife." 

The woman turned from the stove and faced 
me squarely. A slight flush suffused her thin 
cheeks and a challenge was in her eye. 

"Yes," she said, "they demanded me, too." 

For a moment her glance held firm. But 
suddenly a quiver went through her being and 
her face fell. She turned hastily back to the 
stove and began stirring the eggs more rapidly, 
while the husband resumed his rocking. There 
was only the creaking of the chair and the sizzling 
of the cooking. Then the husband said : 

"Haven't you got a little jam for his break- 
fast.?" 

Truly women have suffered in this war, suf- 
fered as only women can. For them there has 
been no escape ; while their sons, husbands, 
brothers, have been torn from them, they have 
been left behind, unknowing, undefended, a 
prey to the worst dangers. There is a bigger, 
deeper heroism behind the lines than on them. 



72 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

It is odd, when the whole world Is running 
blood, how glaringly the sufferings of a single in- 
dividual stand out in one's mind. Midst all the 
horror and anguish about me the fate of this 
one woman burned its way into my feelings with 
an intensity that was uncanny. For days it 
seemed to be with me, sometimes buried, some- 
times cropping to the surface, but always the 
example of helpless, innocent suffering which to 
me synchronized with war. Somehow man's 
mind stands aghast and appalled before war's 
riot and anguish, and can get an inkling of the 
whole only by possessing the particular. 

So it was when I went to the Palais de Justice, 
a magnificent three-story building fairly writhing 
with human agony. A dank, ominous odor of 
disinfectants — I could easily imagine it was 
the stale smell of clotted blood — greeted me at 
the doorway. A glance inside showed a huge 
floor space covered a foot thick with straw and 
bodies lying helter-skelter all about, just as they 
had been dumped from the battle-line. Some 
were half naked, a crushed leg resting painfully 
on the straw. Others bulged with dark-stained 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 73 

handkerchiefs or had their heads so swathed in 
bandages that they could hardly breathe. Some 
were in a death sleep ; some moaned piteously 
with pain ; others existed on, their dull eyes 
gazing blankly into space. 

Nuns and Red Cross nurses wove their way 
gently in and about, bringing water for parched 
throats, placing limbs more comfortably on the 
rough straw, and doing the other trifles which 
it was left in human power to do. Above, be- 
yond it all, like an evil-omened spectre, was a 
black-robed priest, Bible in hand, ready like death 
itself to enshroud the next victim. And always 
that smell of disinfectant, unwashed bodies, 
clotted blood, and death. My God, was it the 
Palais de Justice I was in "i 

At that moment, a little French girl — she 
could not have been over fifteen — who in her sur- 
roundings and through her sufferings appeared 
more of the spirit than of the flesh, asked me in 
a gentle whisper if she could aid me. Learning 
my mission, she took my hand and led me, as 
though I too were a child, through those pros- 
trate forms to the rear. Her whole being was 



74 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

rasped and torn. She tiptoed wherever she went 
and spoke only in whispers. Watching the 
exquisite spirituality in her face, I almost bumped 
into a nun carrying the results of Nature's needs 
from among the helpless patients. Alas, what In 
thousands of cases would be the reaction on chil- 
dren such as this one brought in touch with such 
gruesome suffering ? How dearly will the next 
generation pay for the excesses of the present one .•* 

At last we found the surgeon general, heavily 
uniformed and armed. 

"Ach, do I need help V he burst out. "Mein 
Gott, I am the only doctor to this whole place 
with nearly looo wounded. Kommen sie quick." 

I had told him there were two English doctors 
held prisoner at the Hotel de Ville. His eyes lit 
up with joy, and dropping everything he tore 
up the street. On the way, in mixed English, 
French, and German, this big-hearted man fal- 
tered out to me the horrors of this war. It was 
as though his very soul were going to break. 

"It is war here in France, real civilized war 
— gruesome but still civilized, but in Belgium] — 
I was there two weeks — there is no name for it. 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 75 

I have had German soldiers brought to me with 
eyes gouged out and bodies fearfully mangled. 
Why, even sixteen-year-old girls had committed 
the most unbelievable atrocities." 

It was another side of the shield — and one 
could hardly disbelieve the sincerity of the strong 
man who told it. Truly everything in me went 
out in sympathy to him. How long, I wondered, 
could he stand the strain .^ And somehow when 
I learned from my friend at the Hotel de Ville 
that the two English doctors had just been taken 
to another hospital, it was painful indeed to 
think of this big German left entirely alone with 
such an agony of human misery and suffering. 
As I sadly watched him hurry off down the street 
to his maimed, wounded, and dying, the puniness 
of man's attempts to alleviate the suffering he 
has deliberately caused flooded in on me in sick- 
ening vividness. 

But meantime the German armies were rush- 
ing on towards Paris. What, I wondered, was 
happening down south ^ Why all this torrent 
of infantry, cavalry, artillery pouring out through 
the further end of the square and none coming 



76 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

back ? Was there no resistance at all ? And 
would I never catch up with the battle-line ? 
From pillar to post I chased to find the comman- 
dant and finally ran him down in a barber-shop. 

"An American?" 

"Yes." 

"And you want a pass } How far V* he asked 
through a sea of lather. 

"To Paris" — it was a bold thought. The 
commandant nearly jumped out of his chair. 

"Paris, ach — " and then he roared. Certainly 
it would be drole, wouldn't it — a German officer 
giving out a pass to Paris t Yes, indeed, and such 
a good joke afterwards. We could hardly get 
back to the Hotel de Ville quickly enough, and, 
while the staff was still in gales of laughter, he said : 

"I will meet you on the Champs d'Elysees in 
five days." 

Five days ! September 7 ! What in the world 
had happened to the south t Where were the 
English and French .'' 

A few hours later — it was record time — I 
bicycled into Compiegne, seventy-five kilometres 
nearer Paris. The bridge over the Oise had been 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 77 

blown up by the French, and I had the pleasure 
of sensing German preparedness In crossing the 
river on a bridge made of the strange boat-like 
things I had wondered about so much four days 
before in Valenciennes. 

Again the same busy, bustling headquarters ; 
again the beautiful old Gothic Hotel de Ville 
chiselled against a glorious sunset and floating 
the German flag; again the sense that the 
battle-line was miles and miles away. And also 
no food. 

It was after seven, and every one was off the 
streets. Even the main square was slumbering 
in its guns, while off it the only sound was an 
occasional clanking of heavy German boots 
on the rough cobbles. No one would take me 
in ; everyone was suspicious. By luck and in 
desperation, I told a little girl who was leading 
me away from her house as fast as she could that 
I was an American and hated "les Allemands." 
Her face lit up ; she hurried me back ; pushed 
me in a side door ; and there in a dirty kitchen 
I had my first square meal in twenty-four hours, 
able all the time to look out into the front room 



78 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

where a squad of German soldiers were drinking 
heavily, singing, and shouting. 

"Mon Dieu, the beasts, how we hate them!" 
one of the young girls said to me. "Drink, 
drink, drink, nothing but drink all the time I 
Ah, Monsieur, what a curse for France ! And one 
of them tried to kiss me yesterday 1" 

She disappeared outside among them, her 
face long and lugubrious, her heart sick, and her 
soul afraid. Soon her younger sister returned, 
real tragedy in her expression, but also a decided 
relief to be out of it, even temporarily. 

"So it is all day," she sighed, "always drink- 
ing, singing, shouting. There's just we three 
girls and mother — we don't know what will 
happen. Oh, how we hate them ! Where are 
our soldiers. Monsieur, and when will they come 
back.?" 

By error, but more through the edification of a 
good dinner, I ventured out among them. Guns 
were leaning against the wall ; flowing glasses 
crowded the tables ; men with coats off" and 
shirts loosened, leaned back in their chairs sing- 
ing or talking loudly. I don't remember much 



In the Wake of Von Kluck 79 

but a thick atmosphere of smoke, a dirty gray 
background of uniforms, a din of noise, and a 
great stein of wine which appeared suddenly 
under my nose. In a few minutes I had to return 
to bed with all its contents inside me and a fer- 
vent toast to the Kaiser to my credit. Shortly, 
too, the celebrators retired, in order to be within 
the strict 9 o'clock curfew. At last the women 
of the house after another day of strain were 
able to gain a few hours' relaxation. What a 
life indeed for those left behind ! 

The next day early I arose with a firm determi- 
nation to catch up with the battle-line ; spent 
part of the morning getting over the surprise of 
my life ; and ended by being made a prisoner. 

"Yes, certainly," a big German officer told 
me. "Your pass is good as far as you want to 
go, even to Paris if you wish." 

Then after a pause he added : 

"Isn't it fine we're allies now.'"' 

"Ye-s," I stammered, "bu-t how do you 
mean ?" 

"Why, in China, of course." My heart almost 
stopped beating, for it was just as I was leaving 



8o Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Paris that Japan had demanded that Germany 
cede Kiao-chao. 

" But haven't you heard ?" 

"Not a word," I said weakly. 

"Well, it's simple enough. Japan demanded 
Kiao-chao ; we intrusted it to you ; Japan de- 
clared war ; and now we're fighting together out 
there." 

"Holy smoke," I exclaimed. "I'd better be 
rustling home to get a gun." 

"You had," my friend said, "and if you want 
a lift part way, I'll give you one as far as Paris." 

Great Heavens, I thought, the Germans in 
Paris — the Germans calling us allies, believing, 
at least, that we were at war with Japan — most 
emphatically an ammunition convoy was too slow 
for my superexcited state. I pedalled off at full 
speed. My haste, however, was short-lived. 
Ten minutes later I was arrested. Whether I 
was a prisoner of war, a suspected spy, or a crazy 
civilian under convoy I could not find out, but 
for the next three days I was virtually the former 
with complete loss of liberty. 



IV 

PRISONER OF THE GERMANS 

Just on the outskirts of the city, I ran plump 
into two German bicycle scouts, one of whom 
immediately and in a most professional way 
started to appropriate my bicycle, which was 
decidedly better than his own. My pass, how- 
ever, awed him considerably, and after much 
deliberation with his mate, indicated that I 
could not go farther along that road alone. What 
it was all about I did not know, but at all events 
he and his companion fastened themselves to 
me and stuck — or rather made me stick. Off 
we went in cavalcade, a German with a gun slung 
over his shoulder on either side of me. Soon we 
increased our party by still another person. 

A pretty little French woman, chic, smiling, 
and to all appearances fairly radiating the joy 
of life, stepped out into the middle of the road and 
boldly held us up. She had started out that 



82 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

morning, she said, to find her two children who 
had been visiting in a little town twelve kilo- 
metres away. The Germans, however, had seized 
her machine, leaving her high and dry along the 
roadway with an almost impossible walk before 
her. 

During the time which my limping French 
required to disentangle all her excitement, the 
two Germans watched intently, and most of the 
population near by crowded about. It took my 
whole German vocabulary of "zwei kinder" to 
explain that Madame had two children; then it 
required mimicking, signs, and calisthenics to 
convey the distance, the bicycle, and the requisi- 
tioning. Another long period — Madame all the 
time beating the dust with impatient feet — and 
I learned that my guards wanted to get her an- 
other machine. 

It had been a pathetic story by a pretty woman 
and I could see that the Germans had tumbled 
for it whole-heartedly. Thereupon, with Madame 
still fluttering about and half the village trailing 
after we set out on a search which finally un- 
earthed an old machine in a little out-house. 



Prisoner of the Germans 83 

Then, I, who had come to see a war, pedalled 
off with two German scouts and a chic little 
woman to find two lost children. The only con- 
solation was that at least our route was towards 
Paris. 

Still no sound of battle — still only putrifying 
horses and general wreckage. As I was wonder- 
ing what was happening ahead, we drew near a 
rough springless peasant's wagon moving country- 
wards. Through the back could be seen a white 
figure lying still and motionless on an improvised 
cot. A boy of about sixteen years sat at the head, 
looking sadly, hopelessly, helplessly down. As 
we approached, I saw it was a woman's form. 
Her mouth was wide open ; her eyes already fixed 
in a glazed death's stare, A warm red spot on 
the white cloth about her breast showed what 
had happened. God knows why ; perhaps she 
had denied herself to some crazed soldier; per- 
haps she had committed some hostile act ; per- 
haps she was but another of those chance victims 
who pay the cost of war. We passed slowly, 
reverently by, while the lugubrious wagon trun- 
dled slowly on, the Germans, even as myself, 



84 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

saddened and silenced. Meanwhile the boy 
watched, dazed and oblivious, for the spark of 
life that would be the last. It was his mother. 

Ah — was that distant noise artillery t Was 
the fighting still going on t We stopped. There 
could be no doubt; through the great woods 
about us came the faint, faint growl of distant 
battle. Thank God, the French were not yet 
vanquished. The dismal flight I had been fol- 
lowing had at last caught breath. That magni- 
ficent machine which I had begun to hate for its 
very magnificence, and which even now had me, 
too, in its coils, was at last meeting resistance. 

Our little cavalcade increased its pace as though 
being drawn into the vortex. Soon we ran into 
a great mass of artillery, grimy and ugly, manoeu- 
vring to deliver a flanking movement down a side 
road. As we started to cross a big bridge, a 
chorus of shouts greeted us and we looked behind 
us into the barrels of lowered guns. We scram- 
bled madly back, but neither our two guards 
nor Madame's pretty face could prevail with a 
distempered officer. Off we went, then, across 
country on a wide detour. 



Prisoner of the Germans 85 

When at last we arrived, Madame went ex- 
citedly to the house where the two children had 
been. It was closed and shuttered. She ques- 
tioned a few sympathetic villagers, only to learn 
that all the family had fled out into the distance 
two days before. For just a moment she com- 
pletely lost herself. In crazed desperation she 
rushed about shouting : 

"Charlotte, Charlotte, Madame Fernay, Char- 
lotte." 

Quickly, however, she noticed us watching 
sympathetically. Instantly she caught hold of 
herself. Her desperation melted in a smile and 
an indifferent remark. Never again did she so 
much as once give way to those feelings bursting 
within her. Never again did she falter. Only 
occasionally she looked helplessly, pathetically 
down the open road whither her loved ones 
had fled. 

The two Germans requisitioned bread and 
food ; commandeered a big house and the ser- 
vices of all people therein living. In its large 
dining-room, with guns beside us and half the 
population gaping wide-eyed in through the 



86 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

windows, we had a huge lunch which I believe 
is the dream of the German soldier. Madame 
announced that she would return to Compiegne; 
the two Germans replied that they would accom- 
pany her; and then to my horror that I would 
come too. Never had I been so disgusted with gal- 
lantry. Back then we trundled eighteen kilo- 
metres, even while the German artillery could be 
heard beating against Paris. During all that long, 
tiresome ride, Madame kept up her courageous 
appearance. Little she cared for the war that 
was going on about her. Uhlans clattered past ; 
dead horses stank by the roadside ; the rumble of 
battle came from behind, but not a sign did that 
distracted mother give of the anguish within her. 
Heaven knows what happened to her children, 
but if they know how to suffer as their mother 
knew, they will not prove unworthy of the Re- 
public, 

The next day, for the second time, I set out 
from Compiegne for Senlis, the two Germans 
still sticking to me like burs. On the way we 
entered a dangerous-looking town, ugly and 
deserted, from the middle of which the bleak, 



Prisoner of the Germans 87 

mediaeval walls of the Chateau de Raray rose 
in grim suUenness. There had been a nasty 
fight there, for the side buildings were scarred and 
the grounds littered with the refuse of the en- 
campments of three armies. Strangely enough 
the only person left to welcome us as we entered 
the front grounds was the German housekeeper. 
It gave me the uncanny feeling that here lay un- 
covered one of those many small nerve-centres 
which had so well served the German General 
Staff. 

She welcomed us most cordially, almost too 
cordially, I thought, and in a gorgeous dining- 
room in great disorder gave us an excellent lunch. 
The great building fairly echoed with its sudden 
desertion. German soldiers, following close on 
French soldiers, who in turn followed close on 
the fleeing owners, had left it in pitiful confusion. 
Every room was choked with mattresses, half- 
empty wine bottles, and the already rancid 
leavings of hasty meals. The beautiful parlor, 
with long lines of ancestral portraits, rare tapes- 
tries, and luxurious furnishings, had served as 
headquarters for two higher officers. Two large 



88 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

mattresses desecrated the floor, and the remnants 
of breakfast were putrlfying just as they had 
been left several days before. 

Upstairs all was in equally violent confusion. 
Not a drawer but had been opened ; not a single 
family possession but had been gone over by curi- 
ous German eyes. Apparently nothing had been 
sacred. Whether it had been a search for loot 
or mere morbid curiosity to see how French aris- 
tocracy lived I do not know, but I could not help 
wondering why soldiers should have been given 
so much liberty. My two friends in their turn 
went over everything, even including the wine 
cellar, and offered me whatever I wanted. Un- 
fortunately — and it nearly ended my career 
later — rapacity overcame me and I took a splen- 
did volume of Hugo's " Les Miserables." Whether 
it was a feeling of guilt, the lonesomeness of 
the chateau, or the rumble of battle, I do not 
know, but it seemed to me we would never be 
on. Finally, just as we were leaving, a squad of 
six Uhlans, gray, sombre, mediaeval-looking, with 
spears lowered, clattered warily in at the gate 
as though indeed into a fifteenth-century castle. 



Prisoner of the Germans 89 

Received only by two German bicycle scouts, 
a German housekeeper, an American corre- 
spondent, and the portraits of deserted French 
ancestors, they proceeded in their turn to pore 
over the family possessions. 

At last, joyfully, we sped on from the chateau 
towards Paris. Every turn of the wheel seemed 
to bring us nearer the great struggle which I had 
now been pursuing from the Belgian border. 
What in the morning had been a faint rumble 
had now become a distinct succession of shocks 
breaking through a steady growl. It must be 
the forts of Paris, I thought, for now we were 
not thirty miles out. It was something at least 
to know that the capital still held out. 

About twilight we came to the outskirts of Senlis, 
a pretty little town about twenty-five miles from 
Paris. We passed down a long avenue of beauti- 
ful homes, all shut and unoccupied and as life- 
less as though swept by a sudden plague. Some 
had evidently been broken into ; before others 
were mattresses, tables, furniture, and straw. 
It was as though some giant had stopped a mo- 
ment, sucked out the household goods, and passed 



90 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

on into silence. For one long mile we rode 
through this Pompeian desertion without seeing 
a single soul. 

We turned a corner — a mass of red, molten 
flame flared up to heaven in utter solitude, no 
one about, no sign of life, no attempt to stop the 
devastation. To the left the skeleton of the 
railroad station lay charred and blackened. To 
the right the Hotel du Nord and the whole Rue 
de la Republique leapt forth in flames in unli- 
censed fury. 

I shuddered as we started down that street. 
Flames shot out at us from both sides. Hot 
walls, all ready to crumble, leaned over on top 
of us. Broken telephone and telegraph wires 
lay strewn about with now and then what had 
once been a wall. Not a sound but the crackling 
of the flames ; not a person to be seen. Never 
has devastation reigned more undisputed. I 
had every inclination to stop, to grasp this 
destruction, to find its justification, but my 
two guardians picked their way gingerly but 
determinedly along as if it were but an everyday 
occurrence. 





Ruins of Senlis, twenty-tive miles from Paris, where the mayor 
and sixteen councilmen were shot and the main streets put 
to the flames as Mr. Sweetser bicycled in under guard. 



Prisoner of the Germans 91 

I pointed to the devastation. "Why ?" I asked. 

With hardly a quaver one of them imitated 
the firing of a gun and uttered the laconic remark 
"Civilians." So, for this civilian resistance a 
good part of the town had been put to the flames, 
and more, I learned later, for the Mayor and six- 
teen councilmen were marched off and shot. The 
Germans claimed that this was merely military 
retaliation ; that they had been met by an or- 
ganized volley when they were entering the city 
after its surrender. Heaven knows if this is true ; 
at all events it caused no worry to my friends. 

We rounded another corner, and saw what 
seemed a sea of dusty gray uniforms in the city's 
main business square. As my splendid bicycle, 
ridden by a civilian, came into sight, a wave of 
that gray surged forwards to seize it. Never have 
I felt so lost, so helpless. 

"Americanlsch," shouted out one of my friends. 
Immediately the eager lustful look in the eyes 
before me disappeared and hands were stretched 
out from all sides. I was almost stunned by 
the change and was not aided in recovering my- 
self by hearing a dozen streams of German 



92 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

thrown at me. Somehow, with the background 
of flames behind me, the unrestrained looting 
before me, and the fever heat in which men's 
passions were running, I did not like the situation 
at all. I stayed close to my two friends. 

Together we walked about through the wild 
confusion of the shopping district. Practically 
every door stood wide open to the world, owners 
fled and gray uniforms passing ceaselessly in 
and out. Never will I forget a splendid shoe- 
store where everything had been pulled down 
from the walls and piled knee-deep on the floor. 
An incessant stream of foot-sore Germans filed 
in and out, kicking over the goods till they found 
what they wanted, and then to show their good- 
nature, tossing out the most expensive footwear 
to the few bold French paupers who of all the 
civilian population alone remained. Somehow 
it capped the destruction that the now useless 
necessities of life should go to the last dregs 
of the city's population. 

"Peter," said a voice from within the store, and 
one of my guards went in. Soon he returned with 
his mate, whom I now learned was named Georg. 



Priso7ier of the Germans 93 

"Nicht gut," said Georg, pointing to my shoes. 
"Kommen-sie." 

They led me into the confusion of the store. 
I cannot convey the medley of feelings that rose 
within me when I found they wanted me to equip 
myself with new shoes from the poor French- 
man's stock. I refused. Georg seemed deeply 
hurt, as much as to say, "How foolish of you," 
and then to prove he felt no ill-feeling, tied a pair 
of gaiters to my bicycle. It was as much as 
saying he would be a good fellow even if I wouldn't. 

Across the road the handsome glass door of a 
fine drugstore yawned wide open, as if beseeching 
human companionship. The loneliness of the 
shining cases and the rows of bottles depressed us 
even as we entered. Shortly a woman appeared 
in the doorway, a terrified peasant woman who 
had been driven out of her home into that veri- 
table inferno by her baby's need for medicine. 
She faltered when she saw that the Germans 
were there also, but soon her maternal instinct 
overcame her terror and I was able to coax her 
inside. Trembling, she held out a prescription. 
By one of war's queer chances Peter had been a 



94 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

pharmacist before he was a soldier. When he 
had filled the prescription, fear, hatred, and 
nationality fled from her. Only the thought of 
the sick child remained as she rushed joyously 
out on to the open street through those loot- 
crazed men to her home. What mattered the 
war to her, or the burning of the city, or the loot- 
ing ^. For her there was only that sacred bravery 
of motherhood ; for all she cared the Germans 
might go where they pleased. 

In a stationery store near by we found, strangely 
enough, that the owner had not fled. He wel- 
comed us most cordially as we entered and showed 
us his wares with every solicitude to please. 
We might indeed have been his most honored 
customers. Then, with a blank-book, paper, and 
post-cards picked out, I asked the price. 

"Ah, ga n'est rien, Monseiur, nothing at all," 
he said with a sweeping bow. "Only give me 
the sign, if you please," and he held out a piece 
of chalk to the two Germans. 

"Yah, yah," said Georg, earnestly. He at 
once went out and wrote on the door in great 
German letters : 



Prisoner of the Germans 95 

"Nicht zu pliindern; gute leute." It was the 
German way of telling his comrades not to harm 
the good people within ; the sign I had seen occa- 
sionally all the way from Belgium ; the strongest 
protection to property that now remained ; Mon- 
sieur bowed deeply and gratefully. Poor chap, 
it was the only insurance he could get. He 
would willingly have given us his shop for it. 

Finally it came time for supper and prepara- 
tions for the night, and I looked forwards with 
trepidation to a German army camp. Not this, 
however, for Georg and Peter. We set out 
from that scene of looting, passed once more 
through the burning section which now glowed 
all the redder in the sunset, and arrived in the 
best residential section, which likewise appeared 
all the more tragic and desolate. 

"Das ist gut .?" asked Georg of me, as he pointed 
to a splendid big mansion. 

"Yah, sehr gut," I replied, wondering all the 
time if he were a real estate agent or a second- 
story man. We pedalled on a minute when, 
pointing critically to another house, he asked : 

"Besser.?" 



96 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Yes, yes," I said, "much better." 
At last, with all the care of connoisseurs, the 
two Germans picked out the finest house in the 
section. It lay silent and unoccupied in beauti- 
ful grounds, every blind drawn and a confusion of 
furniture, mattresses, straw, bottles, and dishes on 
the lawn. We entered under a big gate and forced 
our way in through a side door. The two Ger- 
mans, guns fixed, went from room to room, floor 
to floor, making fast every door and window, and 
examining every nook and corner to make sure 
not to be interrupted. At last we felt ourselves 
as much at home as if in our own castle. 

Georg and Peter, guns stacked, ammunition 
belts and coats removed, themselves stripped to 
thin, sleeveless undershirts, set about most me- 
thodically to get dinner. It was all so professional 
and business-like that I felt entirely useless. 
No sooner, however, had I set out to see what 
sort of house we were in than a voice from down 
cellar called : 

"Americanisch, kommen-sie hier." 
I went — and chopped wood enough for an 
army. 



Prisoner of the Germans 97 

Again I set out to see the house ; again that 
command. This time I peeled potatoes till I 
thought we must be supplying the whole city. 
Once more I started off; once more Georg bel- 
lowed me down-stairs. This time I found him 
standing with eyes wide open and smile stretch- 
ing from ear to ear, pointing to a cellar and say- 
ing excitedly : 

"Gut, gut." 

It was a splendid wine-cellar. 

"Yah, bestest gut," I answered. 

Somehow, in our sudden close affinity he made 
me understand that he wanted to know whether 
I preferred red wine or white. " Red," I answered, 
and he took up an armful of both. Decidedly 
it was going to be a happy evening. 

Rather ashamed of my inability to cook, I 
decided to be at least the wife of the family and 
lay the table. So, while the sizzling of German 
fried potatoes and the aroma of a juicy steak 
were coming in from the kitchen, I prepared for a 
regal feast. A beautiful drop-light over the centre 
of the table and two splendid six-flame candelabra 
on a magnificent mahogany mantel-piece, gave 



98 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

forth a warm soft light that was anything but the 
light of war and a looted home. Madame's best 
service fitted up the table royally, and four dif- 
ferent kinds of liquor and Monsieur's proudest 
vintage lent a comfortable, home-like coloring. 

The steak had been cooked to perfection and 
the potatoes browned to a turn. Peter and Georg 
were most good-natured and kept asking : 

"1st das gut.?" 

To which I inanely replied : 

"Yah, yah." 

To put a little personality into our strange 
feast, I gave them a toast, not to the Kaiser but 
to the Fatherland. Their evident appreciation, 
however, fled in perplexed looks and in rapid 
questions. Then Georg, lifting his glass towards 
me, said : 

"To President Roosevelt." 

Apparently they had not heard that we had 
twice since Roosevelt's day changed Presidents ; 
perhaps, even, they knew of no other American. 

It must have been a droll sight — two Ger- 
mans with loaded guns at their side and an Ameri- 
can journalist who understood no word they said. 



Prisoner oj the Germans 99 

What, I wondered, would Madame have said if 
she could have looked in on this strange party ? 
We had made ourselves so absolutely at home 
that even the sombre gray of the German 
uniform seemed to fit in with the surroundings. 
Until suddenly — crash — something up-stairs — 
liquor glasses set down — Peter to his gun — 
bayonet fixed — trigger set — tiptoeing into the 
hall. 

Quick, what was I, German, French, or Ameri- 
can t And how to say it quickly enough ? Would 
one have time to be neutral ? No ! 

"Kommen-sie," whispered Georg. "Kommen- 
sie mit den licht." 

I came. My neutrality was gone. I was 
scared to death. Up-stairs we started, Georg 
in front with fixed bayonet, I next with shaking 
lamp, Peter behind with fixed bayonet. Never 
have I felt so helplessly innocent. Obviously, 
I as lamp-bearer would be the first — 

We entered a bedroom. Georg prodded with 
his bayonet under the bed, into the comforters, 
through the closet ; no one. He entered another 
room. My arm with the lamp followed around 



lOO Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the corner ; then, when I was sure there was no 
shot, I whisked around after them. And so all 
over the house, finding nothing. 

Still, the scare put a damper on the evening, 
and we decided to turn in. We selected Madame's 
finest chamber with a beautiful mahogany bed 
in the middle and all the implements of a French 
woman's toilet about. Not daring to divide 
forces, a mattress was dragged in for Peter. 
One door was barricaded by a big bureau, the 
other by a heavy safe. Thus, with loaded guns 
at our side we spent the night in one of Senlis' 
finest mansions. 

The next day was a nightmare. We awoke 
early with the rumble of heavy guns not far 
away. It was only forty kilometres to Paris ; it 
must be France's last stand. Heavens, how slow 
those two Germans were getting breakfast ! 
Would we never be off to the greatest battle in 
history t So near — and yet all I could get of it 
was the rumble. Would France hold .? 

Breakfast at last — finished — we would be off. 
No ! The two Germans strolled out on to the 
back lawn and invited me to sit down. 



Prisoner of the Germans loi 

"Die Vaterland," I implored, pointing whence 
the rumble came. "Die Vaterland." But neither 
vehemence nor appeals to patriotism would 
arouse them. All morning long we sat there; 
all morning while von Kluck was hammering 
away at the Marne. Georg and Peter, I learned, 
were scouts ordered to quarters at Ecouen, a 
suburb actually within the walls of Paris. But 
the knowledge did not make me feel any better. 

At last, just as dusk was falling, we set out. 
Action, action, any kind of action I had prayed 
for all day as the big guns pounded, but when we 
got back to the ruins of the business section, and 
I learned what sort of action it was to be, it seemed 
as if I must get down in the dust and howl from 
very helplessness. For it was to turn back; 
turn back after having come so far ; turn back 
after having been so near ; turn back once more 
to that city of Compiegne which I had twice 
already left. 

With a scattering force of about 200 Uhlans 
and bicycle scouts, we rode away from the ruins 
of Senlis out into the sunset, back towards Ger- 
many, — the beginning, as I learned later, of the 



I02 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Teutonic collapse at the Marne, even in sight of 
the Eiffel Tower itself. Great God, what was 
happening ? What did this retreat mean ? Was 
it possible that this superhuman machine was 
breaking down at last ? 

In cold, damp darkness we arrived at our old 
Chateau de Raray where we expected to spend 
the night, but alas, what havoc ! Two companies 
of German soldiers had settled on it like a plague. 
An officer with flashing lamp flayed us with a 
flood of anger which had neither cause nor mean- 
ing to me, but only brought pity for those who 
had to bear such abuse. We hastened on miles 
and miles more in the night to Verberie, passing 
now and then scattered groups of Germans and 
once a lone gray soldier driving aimlessly about 
the country in a commandeered horse and wagon. 
Apparently he had no idea where he was going 
and didn't much care, for the moonlight was 
wonderful and the air clear and crisp. 

When at last we arrived at Verberie, all was 
black, sepulchral, ominously quiet, except for 
the shrill, uncanny screams of a wounded French 
prisoner who was being unloaded from a large 



Prisoner of the Germans 103 

German autobus. We were not fastidious this 
time in selecting a home, for it was unpleasantly 
dangerous to be out at that hour. We selected 
one in a block. Georg broke open a window, 
climbed in with fixed bayonet and an acetylene 
lamp from his bicycle, and examined it while we 
stood guard outside. 'Twas a simple habitation, 
evidently the unostentatious quarters of a middle- 
aged bachelor who made a small living by mak- 
ing fishing tackle. Still, when well barricaded, it 
provided us with a good supper and a night's 
rest. 

Breakfast next morning was strained. I had 
decided not to go back further. 

When we went out into the road to leave, their 
bicycles were pointed towards Compiegne ; mine 
I set towards Paris. 

"Where are you going.?" I asked. 

"To Compiegne," Georg replied. 

"I go to Paris," I said with firm determina- 
tion. "Auf wiedersehn." 

"No, come with us," he said. 

"Nein," I answered stiffly, and for lack of 
words flashed out my German pass to Paris. 



I04 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

They consulted. A breathless moment for me 
indeed. 

"Franzose," and Georg imitated Frenchmen 
shooting me. 

"Nein," I said, flashing out my American pass- 
port. They looked at me pityingly as though I 
were crazy. 

"Auf wiedersehn," I said, firmly holding out 
my hand. A moment's hesitation and Georg 
took it ; likewise Peter. By looks if not by 
words we conveyed the good feelings that had 
arisen between us. I jumped on my bicycle ; 
started towards Paris ; wondered if they would 
call me back; looked over my shoulder to see 
them still watching hopelessly ; and waved 
again. 

I was free once more, free to go to the world's 
battle I had been pursuing all the way from the 
Belgian border. 



V 
PRISONER OF THE FRENCH 

Ah, what joy to be at liberty once more, to 
be my own master, not to have to come at the 
beck and call of two men hardly one word of 
whose language I understood. Faintly, ever so 
faintly, I could hear the rumble of artillery in 
the distance. With a sort of wild exultation I 
drove my wheel faster. At last I should see the 
labor of this world crisis. 

Perhaps it is morbid, this curiosity, but it 
surely is irresistible. I was now squarely be- 
tween the lines, yet I felt no fear. I might be 
arrested as a spy at any second by either side, and 
yet that had no interest for me. I was enthralled, 
mesmerized, overcome, what you will, by the 
enormity of the forces before me. No longer 
was I a person, an individuality, a unit with hopes 
and fears ; rather I was but a straw drawn ir- 
resistibly into the vortex. Man is indeed puny 
before such a crisis. 

105 



lo6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

And yet I did feel a chilling loneliness all the 
while. Consciously, though more subconsciously, 
I realized that I had no French papers and I 
felt that I would be gobbled up in a second as 
soon as the French saw me. Heaven alone 
knew how desperate they would be after their 
three weeks' retreat and during their final stand 
under the walls of Paris. For two hours I pedalled 
rapidly, with neither French nor German sol- 
diers to be seen, but with the noise of the battle 
sounding ever nearer. Senlis I entered once 
more, this time very guardedly, for surely the 
French must have arrived by now. The city 
seemed even more desolate than before, for the 
buildings which then had been a surging mass of 
red flame now lay sullenly smoking in crumbled 
ruin. Even the dingy German gray was absent. 

Only two persons I saw, a well-to-do civilian 
who was pointing out to his wife with his um- 
brella every detail of the destruction as if in pur- 
posed self-torture. When I asked if the Ger- 
mans had gone, he said : 

"Yes, and may the curse of God go with them. 
We'll hound them back till every one of them is 



Prisoner of the French 107 

dead or fenced in in Germany." And he went 
on with a steady flow of imprecation and curses 
which were all the more terrible for being care- 
fully weighed and reasoned. Senlis, then, was 
not occupied by either side. It was left alone 
to its dead and its ruins, a place to pass with a 
shudder. 

Off to the left I veered towards Meaux, whence 
seemed to come the heaviest firing. About noon 
I entered the little village of Ermenonville. 
Everyone was on the streets. People questioned 
each other fearfully. All regular human activity 
had ceased. "Les Allemands," some one said. 

Could it be true, I wondered, that the Ger- 
mans were way down here t I made as quickly 
as possible up a steep street leading from the 
main square and waited. By all odds I did not 
want to get caught again by them. Despite 
their courtesy to me and their pass to Paris, which 
was still in my possession, I preferred an unknown 
fate at the hands of the French. 

A civilian accosted me suspiciously. Just then 
the people in the square below began to flee in 
three directions. There was no shouting, no 



lo8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

reason evident. For several moments all was 
tomb-like. We watched fascinated. Suddenly 
a horse's head came slowly, cautiously, into sight. 
Then a spear, a gray-uniformed body leaning 
forward peering up and down each street. Slowly, 
more slowly than one would think a horse could 
move, he advanced to the centre of the square. 

Ambushed, perhaps^ defenceless, victim of 
the first sniper, he was the advance guard of a 
little squad of Uhlans, who in the first days of 
the war were the eyes and ears of the Kaiser's 
forces. He was indeed a brave man. For some 
time he looked, then two companions came up. 
Not a civilian moved ; even the garrulous per- 
son next to me was hushed. Shortly, as quietly 
and spectre-like as they had come, they departed. 
At once the bravery of the man next me returned. 
He became ugly. Evidently he connected me 
with the Uhlans and possibly thought me a spy. 
It is that kind whom one fears most, so I made 
off as rapidly as possible. He stood in the road- 
way behind, alternately shouting that I ought 
to be shot, and warning me that I take all care 
against it. Such is war's effects on nerves. 



Prisoner of the French 109 

Artillery was very audible now as I entered 
the sun-flecked roadway of a luxurious wood. 
Everything except for that was calm with the 
quiet of Nature and the serenity of Indian sum- 
mer. Way down the road — was it a group of 
men ? — I might be wrong — the lights were so 
deceiving — yet 'twould be well to be cautious. 
But wait — yes — a group of figures, horsemen 

— a little block of red — could it be — hullo — 
one is galloping towards me — I have been seen 

— my race for the time is run. Was It by any 
chance, yes, God be praised it was, — it was the 
advance guard of France's army before Paris — 
at last 1 

With gun lowered, the horseman bore down 
on me rapidly. Evidently a lone bicyclist wear- 
ing a straw hat and carrying a suit-case tied to 
the front of his bicycle looked suspicious. Any- 
way the horseman was business-like. I jumped 
off my machine at once and held up both hands. 
He reared up before me with a volley of questions. 
Convinced I meant no harm, he led me back, 
telling me on the way that I had arrived just as 



no Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

they were going to shoot three German prisoners 
whom they could not take with them. We 
approached a small squad of French cavalry. 
Ah, how good it seemed at last to see again their 
warm red uniforms, to know that France still 
fought ! Such a wave of emotion swept over me 
that for the minute I entirely forgot my personal 
situation. The dapper little officer on his wiry 
pony typified France, stood as an outpost to 
say that the Republic, though giving way before 
the fearful machine loosed against it, was still 
standing. 

"Americanisch," in raucous German suddenly 
grated on my ears. I looked in horror to find 
one of the three German prisoners smiling at me. 
Great Heavens, could I never escape them .'' 
Must they pursue me even here ^. And wasn't 
my situation bad enough already 1 I smiled a 
sickly smile ; indeed I remembered him all too 
well as one of the loot-crazed soldiers who two 
days before had tried to steal my bicycle amid 
the flames of Senlis. 

A splendid introduction this ! The horsemen 
eyed me even more keenly. I handed up my 



Prisoner of the French iii 

American passport to the dapper little ofRcer, 
who read It, asked a few questions, and started 
off down a side road. Was I to follow ? I asked. 
Oh no, go right ahead where I had been going. 
Good Lord, how simple ! Apparently I could 
go right through to Paris. 

Shortly the woods ended — a great blur of red 
and blue lay squarely before me. A big division 
of French cavalry, strong, powerful-looking, fear- 
some, held ready to mount at a moment's notice. 
My heart seemed to stop. A mad desire to turn 
and run — I dared not enter that great mass — 
but equally I dared not turn back. Nor could 
I dally any longer between the lines. Obviously 
it was now or never. 

With all the boldness I could muster I went 
on. A small outlying squad was resting in the 
shade of a clump of trees. I expected a chal- 
lenge, bayonets, excitement. No one stirred. 
I dismounted and waited not ten feet away, still 
unchallenged. Somehow I did not dare to jump 
on and chance getting away ; yet it did seem like 
suicide to give myself up. I walked in among 
the men till I found an officer dozing. A touch 



112 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

on the shoulder and he jumped to his feet with 
wild astonishment in his eyes. 

"Who are you?" 

"An American." 

"What are you doing here.^" 

"I'm a war correspondent." 

"Where did you come from?" 

"The German lines." 

"Ooh-la-la, mon capitaine will want to see you." 

His face clouded into severity. Several sharp 
orders rang out too fast for me to catch. Three 
soldiers sprang to attention, bayonets fixed, and 
took position behind me. The officer pointed 
towards the main body of cavalry and ordered 
me to march. 

Off I went, feeling too helpless even to struggle. 
Somehow it all seemed so ludicrous for a harm- 
less, insignificant person like myself to be pushing 
a suitcase and bicycle over a stubble-field with 
three desperately serious, red-pantalooned, long- 
bayoneted French soldiers keeping step at my 
heels. Truly it was absolute opera-bouffe. The 
comic scenes of the "Chocolate Soldier" rushed 
impulsively to my mind. 



Prisoner of the French 113 

There was no time to think what to say. In 
only a few seconds we arrived at the main body, 
which stood out as a kaleidoscope of red panta- 
loons and nervous horses ready to be mounted. 
I was ordered to drop my bicycle and proceed to 
a group of officers. I brought up before a kindly, 
wrinkled little man, who stood out as the com- 
mander, and saluted as best I could. My three 
guards close at my heels saluted too, and 
grounded arms. 

"Bon jour, Monsieur," he said with unexpected 
kindliness. "Who are you.'*" 

"An American." 

"What are you doing here .?" 

" I'm a war correspondent." 

"Where did you come from .?" 

"The German lines." 

The commander's eyes opened wide. His ex- 
pression set. His staff gathered in a close circle 
about me. Impossible, some seemed to say ; 
spy, seemed the verdict of others. I was a little 
dazed, I confess, for how absurd my whole story 
sounded as I stammered it out in broken French. 
And how odd these officers looked, kid gloves, 



114 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

soft, mauve jackets, gorgeous red trousers, and 
dainty caps. Was it thus, I gasped, that the 
French army dressed when routed, crushed, 
smashed up against the very walls of Paris ? 
A dream surely ; soon I would see them with 
beautiful ladies strolling on the Champs 
d'Elysees ; it was absurd to think that dust- 
grimed German hordes were just a few miles off. 

But how had I entered the German lines, they 
asked \ And how escaped 1 A German pass to 
Paris ? Mon Dieu, it could not be. But look, 
here it is. Could one believe it t And the 
women t Are they all ravished ? And Com- 
piegne, burned .? And where are "les barbares" 
now } And isn't it true that they're completely 
routed t Do you think they'll fight any longer t 
I could not begin to keep pace with it all. Ques- 
tions popped from all sides on all subjects. All 
the discretion that was possible I called to my aid, 
for I could see that every word was being weighed. 
I clung to the truth like a drowning man to a 
plank, concealing nothing, exaggerating nothing. 

No atrocities t Bah, that was absurd. Why 
everyone — and the barbarians have plenty to 



Prisoner of the French 115 

eat, and don't have to drive their men into battle 
— and are confident of victory ? The atmosphere 
was beginning to chill. I claimed to have been 
with the Germans all this time and could say such 
things when everyone knew — certainly, there 
must be something wrong somewhere. I was 
allowed to sit down, entirely alone and avoided, 
hungry, thirsty, nervous, with horses neighing 
near by, the inscrutable wood that might even 
then be harboring an attack just ahead, and the 
rumble of battle in the distance. 

Then came my Nemesis, a dark-eyed, English- 
speaking officer, who gave forth distrust and sus- 
picion in every movement. 

"You come from the German lines.'"' 

"Yes, Monsieur." 

"And you have a German pass to Paris ?" 

"Yes, Monsieur." 

"And no French papers ?" 

"No, Monsieur." 

"Well, you can't convince me," — his black 
eyes became slits, his lower jaw seemed to shoot 
forward, he chose his words, — "you can't con- 
vince me that you're straight. People don't ride 



Ii6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

around on bicycles between the lines in war- 
times just for fun." 

"No, sir, it does sound foolish, but I give you 
my word." 

"Thank you, thank you, that is good of you." 
The irony froze to my very soul. "Do you know 
that this is war-times.?" 

With intense fervor I replied : 

"All I ask — is — that — you — do — noth- 
ing — you cannot — undo." 

His ironical gaze had now become almost a 
leer. His eyes bored into me as if to burn 
out whatever I had that he wanted. With 
one last look which I think he meant to be 
terrifying, but which only gave me an angry 
revulsion, he walked over to the commander. 
For some minutes he talked, while both glanced 
sideways at me. 

Well, what's the use, I wondered \ My fate 
lay with the gods. I could do nothing but sit 
tight and hold my peace. Besides I was hot, 
tired, and hungry, with no food since breakfast, 
and small use to ask for any. I wondered vaguely 
what the battle was doing, if the Germans would 



Prisoner of the French 117 

attack through the woods, if Paris was really 
going to fall. The men about me were nervous ; 
horses all saddled and ready to mount on a second's 
notice. And as I looked vaguely about, I en- 
countered two black eyes glaring at me across 
the grass, two eyes that I had learned to fear and 
to hate with all the intensity of the instinctive 
fight for self-preservation. For a long time I 
wondered. Why, I asked myself, had that man 
set out to get me 1 What glory did he — 

"Wo kommen-sie .f"' snapped into my ear. 

I glanced up quickly to see my Nemesis glar- 
ing down on me from behind. By the gods, 
what perversity is there in man which makes 
him play the fool when he most wants to be 
serious ? It amused me, amused me uncontrol- 
lably, that he should have struck practically the 
only German phrase I knew. Some absurd im- 
pulse made me answer slowly and deliberately : 

"Von Senlis, mein Herr." 

It was enough. Off he rushed to the com- 
mander a second time, saying : 

"I spoke to that man in German and he an- 
swered in German." 



Ii8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Oooh-la-la, I began to feel I was being carried 
over the falls. 

"Gettsen-sie up," or something of that sort, 
and I got up, to stand an agonizing half-hour 
telling a German-speaking officer in both French 
and English that I could not understand a word 
he said. Never was the ignorance so deeply de- 
plored a few days before so deeply appreciated 
as now. Finally in disgust he asked in French : 

"But why, if you understand no German, did 
you get up when I told you in German to do so V 

"Because, Monsieur," I replied, "I knew you 
were addressing me and I arose instinctively 
from politeness." And he spent another ten 
minutes endeavoring in every way to trick me 
into speaking German. At last he left in high 
disgust, and I shall never have the satisfaction of 
knowing whether he really asked me for a match 
or whether I imagined it. At any rate I did not 
try to prove my German by offering him one. 

At last just at sunset a big high-powered auto- 
mobile drove up on the roadway with a group of 
high officers. I was ordered to my feet, and once 
more, with three bayoneted soldiers behind me, 



Prisoner of the French 1 19 

crossed the stubble-field. This time, however, I 
had still another companion, that English-speak- 
ing officer with the black slit eyes, who now 
stood out in my mind for nothing so much as 
the comic section "Smart Alec." 

A splendid six-foot-two officer with flowing 
white plumes falling off his silver helmet stood 
just in front of his staff officers at the edge of 
the road. He looked me up and down as I saluted 
and the guards grounded arms, rather amused, I 
thought. 

"Well, what the deuce is the matter with 
you?" he asked in excellent English. 

The question took me back considerably, for I 
wasn't quite sure myself. 

"I — I — don't know," I stammered weakly. 
"I — I guess I'm a prisoner," and I pointed to 
the three guards behind. He smiled — but the 
smile soon faded. 

"Who are you," etc., in the form I had learned 
so well, followed rapidly. Everything I had 
omitted my "Smart Alec" friend at my elbow 
supplied, including my deep knowledge of German. 

"Is that true.?" said the officer. 



I20 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

I told him the facts, and, because I had once 
seen good-humor in his face, ventured : 

"You see, it struck me funny that he hit on 
almost the only German phrase I knew. I used 
to go to Harvard College, and I almost got fired 
because I wouldn't learn German, and yet this 
officer made me understand just what he said." 

It failed. Not even the suggestion of a smile 
touched his face. He whispered to an officer 
behind him. Off I was led to a big Paris auto- 
bus filled with dust-covered, grimy soldiers. And 
as I got in, I seemed to see a triumphant leer on 
the face of my Nemesis. 

Off towards the sunset we travelled, slowly, 
almost mysteriously. The big heavy bus 
jounced and trundled along like a clumsy ani- 
mal, seeming almost on the verge of voicing a 
deep protest against such unwonted work. A 
cloud of dust clung about it like a shroud. All 
of us were choking, while the blue coats of the 
soldiers about me were streaked with white, their 
faces blanched, and their eyelashes standing out 
as if heavily powdered. Once, looking through 
the dust towards the reddening sky, I saw just 



Prisoner of the French 121 

beside the road the corpse of an English Tommie, 
lying face downward and with arms extended 
just as he had fallen. He might have been a 
dog for all anyone cared — yet I could not help 
thinking there must be some one at home in Eng- 
land who would long wonder what had become 
of that unnoticed clay. 

I was left entirely to my own thoughts during 
that ride, and you may well believe they were not 
at all cheerful. At every step my predicament 
had seemed to grow more serious, and the parting 
look of my white-plumed officer stayed before 
me as an ugly memory. Some sort of trial, 
probably ; establishment of identity certainly ; 
perhaps a weary imprisonment while they com- 
pletely forgot about me; worse than that I 
could not bring myself to believe. A spy "i — 
but that could not be ; I knew that they sus- 
pected it, but it certainly was too absurd. 

At last, in the semi-darkness, we trundled into 
a deserted town ; no lights, no people, only blank 
walls, gaping windows, piles of straw, filth, and 
refuse. From every window of our bus soldiers 
craned forth their heads. Horror, indignation, 



122 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

imprecations came from all sides as the work of the 
retreating Germans embedded itself in their minds. 
' "Wait till we get to Germany; wait till we get 
to Germany," one of them beside me kept repeat- 
ing like a dirge. 

It was Nanteuil, one told me, only just evacu- 
ated by "les barbares" that noon. We chunked 
our way up the rough cobbles of a bleak, ghost- 
like street to the main square and there groaned 
to rest. Two blazing camp fires in the middle 
of the square flickered a confusion of wagons, 
horses, and men into an aerie shadow-scene made 
all the more weird by the giant walls of the 
Hotel de Ville in the background. Occasional 
shouting of orders and neighing of horses made 
it appear even gnome-like. 

All the soldiers in the bus tumbled rapidly out 
and were silently swallowed up in the shadow — 
all but one, who stayed between me and the door. 
Shortly he proceeded to munch down a rough 
meal of hard bread and chocolate, which re- 
minded me I had not eaten since morning. I 
tried to ingratiate myself by offering him a 
cigarette, but alas, he was, I believe, the only 



Prisoner of the French 123 

soldier in the French army who did not smoke. 
At last I could stand it no longer and asked him 
if I were to get anything to eat. Unfortunately 
all he had left was a small hunk of hard bread 
which he generously shared with me. 

For two whole hours we sat in that horrible 
bus, apparently forgotten, while my guard dis- 
cussed laconically the improbability of my being 
shot. Then, when it seemed I would go crazy, 
a young English-speaking officer came out of 
the shadow, looked me up and down, and took 
out his revolver. 

"You will not try to escape," he said. "March 
to the City Hall." 

I marched. Next came the revolver almost 
In the small of my back. Then the officer, 
distant and uncommunicative. Over rough 
ground we went, through a medley of wagons, 
horses, and men, to the Hotel de Ville. I felt as 
though I were walking on eggs and prayed ardently 
that my guard would not stub his toe. 

My pistolated friend took me to a small hall- 
way, where straw had been piled about ankle- 
deep. He gave me into the custody of four 



124 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

guards, who promptly ordered me to lie down in 
the further corner. Fortunately I was able 
when no one was looking to snatch up another 
hunk of hard bread from the straw, and then as 
no one seemed to bother about me I tried to for- 
get things in sleep. 

• To say I slept, however, would be a travesty. 
An incessant stream of men passed in and out 
of the building, shouting with true French excit- 
ability and running up and down stairs with flash- 
ing lanterns. I wondered if the French army ever 
slept. Soon an odoriferous soldier, who I wager 
had not taken a bath since the war began, pressed 
close against me on one side and another placed 
himself at my feet, so I could not stretch out. 
At last, nevertheless, midst all the furore, I fell 
into a state of cold and sickly Insensibility. 
, Eternities seemed to have spun themselves 
away through a nauseating vacuity when 
suddenly without warning a gruff hand seized 
my shoulder and I was dragged dizzily forth to 
the stairway, still covered with straw. There 
my magnificent white-plumed officer of the after- 
noon, with the aid of a light from a large greasy 



Prisoner of the French 125 

lantern, was making a most minute examina- 
tion of my precious suit-case. Rummaging into 
everything, he came upon the shirt which my 
two German bicycle scouts had stolen for me at 
our mansion at Senlis. Every fibre of it seemed 
to breathe forth its message, to make it stand 
out as a great red, accusing finger, pointing 
defiantly at me. But somehow the officer passed 
it over. Then he came on a big volume of Hugo's 
"Les Miserables " which I had deliberately 
stolen from a looted chateau. 

"Seems to me," he said (would he strike the 
name-plate), "seems to me that's a funny thing 
to go to war with." 

"Yes," I faltered hastily, "but Hugo's my 
favorite writer and I took it along to — to read 
evenings." 

■ "Huh," and he shook his head, as though I 
were mentally unsound. Anything was better 
than being thought a spy ; hence I kept a dis- 
creet silence. Like the labor of a mighty moun- 
tain which brought forth only a tiny mole, this 
exacting examination produced nothing more 
portentous than my diary, which, however, for 



126 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

all the fuss they made about it, might have been 
of fatal menace to the Republic. With that re- 
moved for further inspection, and my person 
pushed and prodded for arms or secret papers, I 
was dismissed once more to my bed of straw and 
dirty French soldiers. To my dismay my watch 
told me it was only 12.30. 

Another eternity afterwards I was yanked out 
of the straw once more and shoved, sick and dizzy, 
towards the door. It was cold and bleak out- 
doors with a damp dew all about. Two guards, 
revolvers unstrapped, stood menacingly beside 
me. Vaguely I realized that it was the proverbial 
hour for the firing squad. But what mattered 
it .'' Without water and almost without food for 
twenty-four hours, with little sleep and nerves 
strung taut, I felt too sick to care. 

My guards, revolvers ready, led me out into 
the blackness. The shouting of men and the 
harnessing of horses indicated that a general 
movement was under way. Bleak and lonely as 
I felt in the grip of this great force, it was a com- 
fort to know that there were others besides my- 
self who were stirring. I was now not at all 



Prisoner of the French 127 

sorry not to be the leading actor. My guards 
ordered me on to an empty wagon pulling out into 
the roadway and followed close behind. We 
went on and on in the darkness, wagons in front, 
wagons behind, but most fascinating of all, two 
corpses covered with blankets on the wagon with 
us. I don't know how long I philosophized on 
this evidence of the ruthlessness of war, how much 
soul-stirring I indulged in, when suddenly one 
rose on his elbow, yawned, and shook the other 
into action. 

For a while I was allowed to ride, but soon that 
appeared too good for a prisoner and I was made 
to march. On and on we went out into the 
country, through the darkness, through the dawn, 
through the sunrise to a glorious day. The first 
flush of dawn showed to my eyes a huge supply 
train of busses and wagons, nearly two miles long ; 
and to our ears it brought the sullen roar of the 
beginning of another day of the slaughter along 
the Marne. 

I was tired, fearfully tired, and weak from lack 
of food and sleep. There was no stopping, how- 
ever, for the long caravan wound implacably 



128 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

on through the dust. It had been a beautiful 
country we were passing through, but now it was 
only a succession of rotting harvests and hun- 
dreds of little peasant homes deserted and rifled. 
Like the fateful sweep of Time we passed Er- 
menonville, where only the day before I had, a 
free man, fled from German Uhlans to enter the 
French lines. What a refuge indeed ! 

I sought relief by wetting my mouth with the acid 
juice of unripe pears along the roadside. It had 
long seemed as if I could go no farther when our 
big supply train drew itself up in giant circles in 
a big meadow and horse and man sought rest. 
As the sun mounted it became sickeningly hot, 
especially as my guard would not let me move 
far enough to find shade. All morning the roar of 
the big guns continued, while we poised vulture- 
like for the outcome. But to me it mattered not 
that even at that moment Paris might be falling, 
that I had come all the way to Europe only to be 
near but not at the decision of world history. 
Rumble, rumble, rumble, what did I care .'' 

Just before noon it ceased. Perfect stillness 
followed. Great God, what had happened t 



Prisoner of the French 129 

The sun had grown hotter and hotter, as if to 
melt the earth into quiet. Men looked at each 
other poignantly. The possibility of the annihi- 
lation of France seemed to echo through that 
false peace. The laying low of the country I 
loved so well came home to me with sickening 
.anguish. The hours passed silently ; not a 
sound disturbed the unusual noon peace till two 
o'clock. 

Then, God be praised, the guns resumed, 
France still lived ; still fought ! But hold — can 
it be — no — it is too much — but yet — by 
Heaven above — France not only fought ; she 
was winning. The Germans were hurled back, 
back, back ; the French recoil had begun, the 
tiger had sprung. A shout of joy burst out 
around me ; a quiver of jubilation ran through 
the convoy ; faces which had been sad and drawn 
lit up with ecstasy as if charged with electricity. 
Ah, to have seen this day ! 



VI 

UHLANS AND TAUBES 

The roar of guns which all morning had been 
near was now far off. The French had 
hammered, pounded the Germans into serious 
retreat. Paris might yet be saved. The long 
trail of disaster I had followed from Belgium 
almost to the gates of Paris had snapped back. 
Ah, it seemed I must fling my heels in the air 
and shout for pure joy — till I caught the severe 
eye of my guard resting on me. Obviously 
jubilation from me would appear wholly simu- 
lated, hence I choked down my enthusiasm. 
What a shame that in this world victory there 
must be a string tied to my happiness ! 

Activity burst forth on all sides, and in a few 
minutes we were on our way back to Nanteuil. 
Alas, that I knew the distance, for it certainly 
did seem I could not go another eight miles in 
that blazing sun. Fortunately I had made up my 

130 



Uhlans and Taubes 13 1 

mind that I would not starve and had demanded 
bread and water from my guard. It seemed as 
though I could swallow canteen and all. 

After endless plodding through the dust my 
guard told me that two Englishmen were ap- 
proaching. In my hapless condition I fairly 
wanted to dash up and kiss them — till I saw 
them. I gazed eagerly back to see two huge 
men fully six feet two, with big white towels 
wrapped over their heads and under their chins, 
a six weeks' growth of ruddy beard, women's 
chemises which left bare a big expanse of shaggy 
chest, trousers which stopped halfway to the 
knee, and shoes too small to fasten. They were 
just dismounting awkwardly from what appeared 
to be children's bicycles and were stalking off 
down the road towards me. For all the world 
they might have been the original cave men from 
the Stone Age. With trepidation I asked : 

"Do you speak English.?" 

"Well, where th' divil did you come from.?" 
exclaimed one, in richest Irish. 

"Where the devil did You come from?" I 
retorted. 



132 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Shure, we've ben afther runnin' al iver the 
bloody counthry. We wuz one of the first to 
come out from the old counthry and we've ben 
runnin' ever since. Them bloody Dutchers blew 
the hill out of us about thray wakes ago up 
Belgium way and haven't given us a lit-up since. 
It was about a wake ago over here somewhere 

— damn if I know where — only there wuz an 
open corn falde and a town with a white church 

— and the bloody Dutchers caught us at both 
inds with their damn machine-guns. We wuz 
going down like flies all around. Mike here wuz 
beside me with his teeth nearly rattlin' out of 
his head, and I sez : 

"'Mike,' sez I, 'phwat th' divil ar yez doin' 
here ? ' 

"'Damn if I know,' sez Mike. 

"'Well,' sez I, 'phwat do yez say we bate it .f" 

"'Right,' sez Mike. 

" So we sent our guns in one direction, our hats 
and coats in anither, and oursilves in a third as 
though hell itself wuz afther us. And by God, 
all the rist of them bate it too. Bullets wuz 
flyin' under my arms, betwane my legs, and all 



Uhlans and Tauhes 133 

around me. Men wuz goin' down al over the 
place. I felt like I wuz the size of a house and 
damn if I don't belave those bloody Dutchers 
wuz pullin' the wood away from us. 

"Damn if I know how I did it, but somehow I 
got into that wood alive. Pretty soon up comes 
Mike. 

"'Well,' sez I, ^phwat the hill are you 
doin'?' 

"'I'm runnin',' sez Mike. 'Phwat th' hill did 
yez think I wuz doin' .?' 

"And no sooner had Mike cum up than up 
cum the Dutchers. They takes us in tow over 
to a house and makes signs to us like this. We 
took off al our clothes that was dacent, and 
then stopped, but they made us go the limit. 
Pritty soon we wuz as naked as whin we wuz 
barne. 

"'Phwat yez doin'.?' sez I to Mike. 'Havin' 
yer picture took.f*' 

"'Shut up,' sez Mike. 'Yer ain't no beauty 
yerself . ' 

"Pretty soon they run us into the house and 
here's the rig they give us. Well, we bate the 



134 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

woods thray days with them till one night Mike 
sez to me : 

"'I'm gettin' sick of these guys. Let's bate it.' 

"'Al' right,' sez I, and we did. We waited till 
it wuz dark and then we sneaked away. And 
for thray days we wandered around livin' on 
roots till we sees these guys. 

"'Mike,' sez I, 'who th' hill are thim?' 

'"Damn if I know,' sez Mike, 'but I'm sick of 
livin' on roots. I'd rather go back to fried dogs 
and sauerkraut with the Dutchers than wander 
around here any more.'" 

It was a long speech for the Irishman, and he 
stopped suddenly. Abruptly he asked : 

"Who th' hill are these guys .?" 

"Why," I stammered, "they're soldiers, 
French soldiers." 

"Well, I'm damned," he mused. "Here I've 
been fightin' in their bloody counthry now for 
thray wakes, and them's the first Frenchies I've 
sane yet. They're a hill of a lookin' bunch, 
they are. 

" Mike, Mike," he burst out. " Would yez look 
at the pants they've got on \ Damn if I see 



Uhlans and Tauhes 135 

how they can run so fast with thim trimmings. 
I belave I could bate up a whole rigiment of them 
myself." 

Fortunately for international comity the wide- 
eyed Frenchmen who were standing about, gaz- 
ing wonderingly at the Irishmen's physiques and 
their methods of covering them, understood 
neither English nor Irish. Then one of them, 
with mouth crammed with sardines, sweet choco- 
late, and pears, learned I was a prisoner. 

"Phwat are yez talkin' about? Phwat are 
yez, an Englishman .f"' 

"No, an American." 

"Well, damn me, it's the same thing. Who's 
got yer ?" 

I pointed to my little guard. The big Irish- 
man stalked over, brandished a huge fist in his 
face, and let forth a volley which nearly sent me 
prostrate with laughter. 

"Who th' hill do yez think yer are, anyway .f* 
I've got a good mind to knock yer block off, yer 
good-for-nothing, insignificant little Frenchie. 
That guy's a frind of mine, and he's worth about 
six of you." 



136 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

And so forth with much anger. The Irish- 
man put just as much fervor into his words as 
though the Frenchman had understood every 
syllable, and the latter seemed perplexed as to 
whether to laugh or run. At last I got myself 
together sufficiently to call the Irishman off and 
tell him it was not the guard, but rather an 
officer who was responsible. 

"Well," he said, "show me the officer. I'll 
bate up the whole damn regiment if I have to." 
But fortunately more food arrived at that mo- 
ment and further hostilities were prevented. 

Finally, in the late afternoon we arrived once 
more at Nanteuil. For nearly an hour we halted 
in the city streets, with the tail of our column, 
where were the two Irishmen, thirty-four German 
prisoners, and myself at the very outskirts. It 
was the most dangerous place of all in case of 
attack, and I had wondered not a little why we 
had all been put there. 

Crash ! A rifle volley broke out — bang, bang, 
bang, just beside us. 

"Aux Armes," rang down the line — Uhlans 
were upon us — rifles spat and sputtered on all 



Uhlans and Tauhes 137 

sides — the German prisoners twitched with ner- 
vousness — officers with drawn revolvers herded 
them menacingly into a side-yard — even my 
little guard caught the fever and drove me inside, 
too. Men with guns clutched firmly rushed past 
our gateway, each for himself. There was no cen- 
tral command, no unity of action. Men jumped 
behind trees and tried sharp shooting, much as I 
imagine was the case in old American days when 
a prairie schooner was attacked by Indians. 

"Well, Fm damned if we can iver git rid of 
thim," said one of the Irishmen, and he imme- 
diately forgot the battle outside in a large sand- 
wich. What, I wondered, would happen if the 
Germans rushed down the street we were on } 

The panic spread even to my guard. I had 
noticed him getting more and more fidgety, and 
at last he could stand it no longer. Taking out 
his revolver, he ordered me out of the yard, on to 
the street, into the range of the flying bullets, 
and, if you will believe it, towards the front. 
Then, with a sudden flash of intelligence, he or- 
dered me into a yard exactly like the one I had 
left except that I was much nearer the German 



138 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

attackers. I guess he must have appreciated that 
I came over to see the war. 

"Phwat th' hill have yez been up to.?" I 
heard shortly, and there in the doorway were 
the two Irishmen. Stirred to action by my 
sudden departure, they were torn between desire 
to "git a gun and bate them up" or to get some 
water to wash down a heavy meal. But as my 
guard's enthusiasm had now lapsed into quietude, 
we sat in the shelter of a wall for a long time, 
while the firing gradually withered away into a 
few last scattering shots and silence. What, 
apart from the furore, was the net result I do not 
know, but I do know that an invaluable convoy 
was caught entirely unawares, with no central 
defence, with prisoners in the most exposed 
position, and probably with no sentries. 

Then as suddenly as the furore had come and 
gone came the next act. An officer dashed 
breathlessly up to me and shouted in my face : 

"There's a train waiting — hurry up — get 
out of here." 

"But how — what do you mean?" I 
stammered. 



Uhlans and Taubes 139 

"You're free — free — In full liberty — go — 
leave at once — you're free." 

He seemed wild with impatience. 

"But," I stammered again, "what do you 
mean? I'm no longer a spy?" 

"No, no, they've decided you're not. Hurry; 
get away ; go to Paris. The Colonel orders 
it." 

They now seemed as eager to get rid of me as 
before they had been to keep me. 

"But," I asked, "you've got my bicycle, my 
suit case, everything I own." 

"Yes, yes, where are they? What have we 
done with them?" 

My two Irish friends said good-by — off to 
Paris. 

"How do I know," I exclaimed, "when you've 
had this lad running around behind me for two 
days with a loaded revolver?" 

He seemed greatly nettled at me for not know- 
ing. A wild but unavailing search ensued. 
' "There's no more time," he said. "Your 
train's leaving. What will you do, come with us 
or get them after the war ?" . 



140 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"I'll come," I replied. Heaven knew where 
they were going. "But wait a minute, if you 
please," I shouted after him. "Kindly have this 
man put up that pistol and tell him that I'm not 
going to destroy France, and give me over to 
someone who knows I'm not a spy." 

Instantly the attitude towards me changed. 
Soldiers crowded about me with true French 
cordiality. Even my former guard relaxed in om- 
inousness. I was given over to a very courteous 
little soldier who at once felt a very warm spot 
towards me because I could tell him all about the 
German signs and dishes in the restaurant at Val- 
enciennes where he had previously been a waiter. 

In inky blackness we went out the other side 
of Nanteuil towards the firing line. Incessantly 
wounded streamed by, some hobbling, some rid- 
ing, still others groaning almost in death as they 
were joggled along on stretchers. Once we 
stopped on an inky black mountain road to allow 
a train of artillery to pass and dig itself in on a 
near-by knoll. Like gnomes of the underworld, 
dim figures toiled in silence, broken only by the 
neighing of a horse or a sharp command. 



Uhlans and Tauhes 141 

By now I had become an honored guest. My 
friends insisted that I have the seat on the rear 
of an ammunition wagon, which courtesy alone 
forced me to accept. It extended only six inches 
from the back of the wagon, so that I had to 
plaster my back absolutely flat against the rear. 
A bar below gave a little purchase for my toes ; a 
strap at the side gave something for one hand to 
cling to. Slowly we jounced and joggled along 
in the blackness of a wooded road till it seemed 
as if my teeth would rattle out of my head. 
Every now and then we brought up so sharply 
that the big cavalry horses behind me nearly 
pinned me to the wagon. 

Just before midnight we arrived at a fine open 
field under a clear moon-lit sky. Wagons were 
herded together, horses unharnessed, and a line 
of guards set about us. Four German soldiers 
who had been playing the devil in an armored 
car were brought in amid much excitement. My 
kind friend set out to get a blanket and returned 
in great joy, for it appeared that blankets were 
indeed a luxury. There were three of us under 
that one and one of them hardly closed his eyes 



142 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

all night. Our bed was a stinging stubble-field ; 
spiders crawled over our faces like an army 
corps ; field bugs reconnoitred our legs beyond the 
point of endurance. As the night lengthened a 
cold damp dew set in which made it necessary 
to smother our heads in the blankets while our 
feet stuck out below in the dampness. A French 
civilian on one side of me snored like a pig and 
sucked in the blanket ; my soldier friend on the 
other side snorted spasmodically. At last, at last, 
the torture ended. All of us rose gladly in a cold 
dawn to stir life into our deadened arteries. And 
as we watched the sun climb up and the camp 
fires kindle, I'll never forget how every man in 
that great camp coughed with a deep chest cold. 
There was nothing hot for breakfast, only the 
same old hard bread and a little jam. 

Midst all the bustle of awakening life and 
breaking camp, a speck appeared on the horizon, 
a tiny speck which grew larger, larger, as it ap- 
proached, till we saw a beautiful hawk-like Taube 
circling menacingly about over our heads as if 
ready to dive at us at any second. Instantly 
the whole camp sprang to arms and a thousand 



Uhlans and Taubes 143 

guns spat forth a caustic good morning. For a 
considerable time the Taube circled disdainfully 
about, and then fully satisfied, sailed majestically 
off into the distance. For a long time the French 
watched eagerly for it to pitch downwards, but 
at last had to return disappointed to their routine 
work. ' 

By now my good friend had located my suit- 
case, but my diary was vehemently denied me. 
Strangely enough the big white-plumed officer 
who had bobbed up several times before appeared 
once again and only too kindly gave me a pass to 
Paris. My diary } Of course, he replied, and at 
once ordered its custodian, whom I had been able 
to move by no entreaties, to give it over to me. 

"And, Monsieur," I faltered, "when I came I 
had the best bicycle in France. If it's been 
commandeered, it will be my contribution to the 
Allies ; if not, well, it would shorten the walk to 
Paris." 

"All right," he replied, rather knowingly, I 
thought, "if you can locate it, take it." 

A half-hour's search of a thousand bicycles 
showed nothing of mine. I reported to him. 



144 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Well, It's gone — here's hoping it's useful. 
Good-by, and — " 

"Wait a minute, I'll get you another." 

"Oh, no, Monsieur," I started, but my friend 
whispered : 

"Don't worry, if they give you anything, it's 
no good." 

He was right. It looked perfectly good as I 
jumped on and waved good-by, once more a 
free man. But inside lOO yards the front tire 
went flat; in another hundred yards the back 
tire followed suit. Then I walked. 
« Once more at Nanteuil, I found by good for- 
tune that a train ot wounded was just setting out 
for Paris. There for the first time I found what a 
phenomenon my trip with the Germans made me. 
Indeed it earned for me my first real meal in three 
days, real bread, a raw egg, and above all wine. 

It was a ghastly trip, that to Paris. At every 
station we stopped for wounded, till our long 
train was fairly groaning with maimed and dying. 
Men had been brought in from the near-by lines, 
sometimes two, three, even four days without 
attention, dumped on the platforms and left 



Uhlans and Taubes 145 

unattended till a chance train came along. The 
baggage-men and myself were the only ones to 
load this human wreckage on board, and the 
worst we took in with us. 

One of them I talked with a long time, a simple, 
kindly little school teacher from Southern France, 
whose eyes burned feverishly, and whose left 
leg had been smashed by a shell and made three 
inches shorter than the other. Great God, the 
agony of moving that racked form, and yet apart 
from the deepening of the red spots on his cheeks, 
his only thought seemed of the children he had 
been forced to leave. 

"Ah, Monsieur, what will they do without 
me 1 Who will see to them now ? " 

Another had lain for three days between the 
lines, without food, without attendance. Now 
he bore a large red-stained towel wrapped all 
about his head, his one uncovered eye gazing 
blankly out of the door. When I asked him if 
he wanted more water, he made no reply, even his 
power of hearing seeming stunned. A third had 
had his arm and shoulder smashed out of shape 
and lay deathly still, only a faint groan showing 



146 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

that life still remained. And so on through 
countless others. 

Our train with its freight of suffering hitched 
slowly, slowly on like a funeral procession. Its 
every bump and jounce sent agonies of pain 
through the torn forms near us, and it seemed 
eternities ere we reached the suburbs of the 
capital. At one of them my train of wounded 
switched off to the east of Paris for the South of 
France, while I descended to the platform to 
take another train. 

It was the shock of coming into another world. 
In a second, I had been transported from where 
humanity was locked with its very elements, 
where men discarded civilization for barbarity, 
where blood ran thick, where forms lay torn 
and mangled, straight to that city which typified 
the height of civilization, which stands as a 
monument to man's highest impulses. I looked 
back to the scenes I had left, then forward to 
Paris' sky-line. Surely both could not be ; they 
could not thus exist so closely side by side. One 
of them must be a mere dream, a figment of 
the imagination. 



Uhlans and Taubes 147 

And the quiet life on the platform about me ; 
people well dressed ; women with flowers ; all 
the little petty human activities going on as 
usual ; — Great God, how could it be ? And the 
Germans so near (it had been but a trifling train- 
ride) ; France so close to annihilation. Oh, why 
didn't everyone get out and make ready ? I 
could not but look askance at these people ; did 
they not know ? and they too looked askance at 
me. 



VII 

A REPORT TO THE STATE 
DEPARTMENT 

Paris, Paris at last ! Ah, did she but realize ! 

I blundered over to the United Press, then to 
the Embassy. 

"Mr. Herrick .? Why, he's very busy; he's 
the busiest man in Europe. May I ask who 
you are V 

"I do not care especially to see Mr. Herrick," 
I answered very wearily, but with all the dignity 
I could muster ; " I only thought the Ambassador 
might wish to see me. You may say there is an 
American newspaperman here just back from the 
German lines." 

A startled look, a moment's wait, and the 
doors stood wide open. Exhausted, dishevelled, 
unshaven, dirty, received first as a tramp, then as 
a ghost, I entered a beautiful room with the for- 
mally dressed Ambassador standing questioningly 

148 



A Report to the State Department 149 

at his desk In the centre and richly uniformed 
aids and attaches seated wonderlngly near by. 

I am going to digress here a moment to repeat 
what I told Ambassador Herrick and later re- 
ported to the State Department, not with any 
idea of historical completeness or infallibility, 
but merely as the observations of, so far as I 
know, the only American newspaperman on von 
Kluck's dash to Paris. Remember that I was 
with the Germans for nearly three weeks during 
the heat of their advance ; on the main line all the 
time from the Belgian border to Paris ; and that 
throughout I had been Intensely anti-German. 

First, let me say, I saw nothing that could 
remotely be classified as atrocities, with two 
possible exceptions. The first was the abuse 
of the thin, chicken-chested woman at St. Quen- 
tin, whose husband had been held against the 
wall by one drunken German while the other 
wreaked his will on the defenceless wife. The 
story was too honestly told to be false, but I 
have no reason for believing that It was general. 
From the fact that women In towns where the 
Germans had been for any time seemed to have 



150 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

overcome their fear, I firmly believe that the 
Germans were as respectful as any army would 
have been. 

The other possible atrocity was the city of Senlis, 
where the mayor and sixteen councilmen had been 
shot and fire set to the station, several hotels, 
and all the houses on the Rue de la Republique 
and two side-streets. The Germans told me, 
even as the flames mounted to the sky, that 
after the surrender of the city, when their men 
were entering without , suspicion, an organized 
volley had been poured into them from the houses 
by civilians. Even the French, on my return 
ten days later, admitted that someone had fired 
on the Germans, but denied that it had been gen- 
eral. Consequently, till the facts are known, 
the tragedy of Senlis must be held an open ques- 
tion. 

Military retaliation of this nature was most 
glaringly threatened in proclamations, notices, and 
hand-bills on the walls of every city and town 
on my route. Leading men were taken hostage 
and their lives held forfeit; all arms were or- 
dered surrendered under pain of death; all 



A Report to the State Department 151 

refugee French ' soldiers ordered given up. The 
German machine was severe with all the severity 
of which such a bloodless organization is capable, 
for it was in a hostile country and could not 
afford to trifle. 

Except for Senlis, however, the mere threat 
sufficed. The power, momentum, and fatality 
of the German forces completely cowed the few 
French who remained, and they very readily 
acceded to the German command that the war 
be a war between armies only. There was scat- 
tered sniping, of course, but to the best of my 
knowledge it was very scattered indeed. At 
Compiegne, for instance, a German officer told 
me that several citizens had been shot for this 
reason. 

Nothing was allowed to impede in the least 
the progress of that fearful machine. Hotels, 
houses, and above all food were commandeered, 
regardless of whether or not the French were 
left homeless and starving. That was an un- 
fortunate incident of war; it could not be con- 
sidered when the Fatherland was at stake. Take 
St. Quentin, for instance. Every meat-shop. 



152 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

grocery, bakery commandeered ; every baker 
set to work night and day for the Germans ; no 
trains entering in three weeks ; small wonder 
that the people were soon starving. 

Requisitioning by the individual German sol- 
dier had, however, been rigorously forbidden, 
though naturally the order could not be regularly 
enforced. In scores of cases I saw them pay for 
what they got ; in none did I see them refuse to 
do so. Inquiries all the way from a Valenciennes 
department store-owner to a cross-roads inn- 
keeper convinced me that individual looting was 
pretty well scattered. German money had been 
made legal tender at a specified rate of exchange 
and was quite common in many places, as was 
English money where the English had been. 

Stores which had been abandoned and small 
country inns fared much worse. Take, for in- 
stance, a Senlis shoe-store, where a whole com- 
pany of foot-sore men, weary with incessant 
marching, were making merry in shoes piled 
knee-deep on the floor : there was no one left 
to pay, even if they had desired, as in this case 
I am sure they would not have. 



A Report to the State Department 153 

Road-side inns sometimes showed evidences of 
wanton destruction. In many were broken chairs, 
mirrors, and windows, together with a disgusting 
accumulation of filth. It was generally, however, 
the work of nerve-worn, dust-choked men, aflame 
with thirst and reckless with exhaustion, rather 
than men filled with purposed destructiveness. 
Behind the Germans was one long trail of dirt and 
filth, glasses, bottles, half-eaten, rancid food, straw, 
and refuse. Beautiful chateaus, as at Raray, and 
houses, as at Senlis and Verberie, had suffered 
badly. Soldiers were given surprising freedom and 
pored over everything. It was mostly curiosity 
to see how French aristocracy lived, for there was 
small chance of taking away much loot. 

In all my trip I saw only two cases of absolute 
drunkenness, both in a little inn at Compiegne. 
They were both mild and did not prevent their 
owners from leaving in time to get to barracks at 
the curfew hour of nine. Unfortunately there 
was a great deal of drinking, as shown by looted 
bars, but it was too widely distributed, I believe, 
and the discipline was too severe, to have al- 
lowed much real drunkenness. 



154 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Within the limits of their necessity, as they 
conceived it, the Germans were kind and polite 
to the natives. In cases there was a manifest 
effort to cultivate good relations as far as possi- 
ble. The French were allowed truly surprising 
freedom of travel, and Germans mixed freely and 
unguardedly amongst them. Discipline seemed 
stricter in large cities than in small, while French 
desperation and German exhaustion made rela- 
tions more and more strained the farther into 
France the Germans went. 

Between individuals there were often most 
happy instances of fundamental human interest. 
Many a night I saw one, two, three Germans 
sitting in dark little inns, guns stacked, with a 
group of curious French standing about in open- 
eyed wonderment. It was the simple peasant 
interest of each side towards a foreigner. 

The German psychology as I saw it might have 
been summed up in two phrases : absolute entire 
faith in the justice of their cause ; absolute 
entire faith in their ultimate victory. Not a 
German I met but would have given his life for 
the Kaiser ; not one but expressed horror at what 



A Re-port to the State Department 155 

was termed the baseness and aggression of the 
Allies. Phrases, justifications, and execrations 
were run off almost by rote, monotonously the 
same, but always fervent. 

Their attitude towards Americans I have al- 
ready shown in the instance of the officer who 
told me that America and Germany were fight- 
ing Japan over Kiao-chao. Evidently the Ger- 
man soldier had been led to believe that the 
United States was very sympathetic with the 
Fatherland, if not openly active in support. 
At all times my American passport brought re- 
spect and courtesy, and several times, as at the 
looting of Senlis, the single word "Americanisch" 
changed a gray mob of excited soldiers eager to 
steal my bicycle into a group of cordial friends. 

For the Russians the Germans evinced the 
most supreme contempt. The Russian army was 
pictured as a great lumbering, topheavy mass 
which would crumble away like decayed stone 
before German scientific warfare. The more 
soldiers there were the more cannon-fodder, they 
felt. This belief, too, was heightened by carefully 
written army news reports of Russian defeats. 



156 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

At St. Quentin, for instance, notices in French 
were posted on the walls that three Russian army 
corps had been annihilated and three generals 
and 60,000 to 70,000 men taken prisoner at 
Tannenberg. 

Their attitude towards the French was entirely- 
different. It may be described as rather that of 
a good sportsman after big game, who has little 
doubt that he will bring down his quarry, but who 
realizes that there is danger in the task. Every- 
thing was to be fair and clean without hatred or 
ill-will. Withal, there was a certain contempt for 
French inefficiency, mingled with a genuine 
sympathy for a people who were considered so 
simple as to be seduced to their own destruction 
by perfidious Albion. 

There it was indeed, even at this early time, 
that the true bitterness of the German spirit 
stood forth. For the English the Germans had 
a most intense hatred. To their minds the Is- 
land Empire had wriggled like a snake in the 
grass, spreading its poison till at last it had in- 
veigled hot-headed, sentimental France to rush 
in to get revenge for Alsace-Lorraine and 1870, 



A Report to the State Department 157 

and monstrous, land-grabbing Russia to take up 
arms in overweening hope of world dominion. 
England, the German soldier felt, was the arch- 
plotter and must be crushed under foot for all 
time. 

That any of the other nations were sincere 
never seemed to occur to the German soldier. 
I remember a most tremendous clash of ideas 
and ideals when a German prisoner expressed his 
view to a French sergeant. Both for the first 
time caught hold of the fact that the other nation 
felt itself actuated by as high motives as those 
for which his own nation was contending. Each 
learned that the other thought he was fighting 
in a war of self-defence against wanton aggres- 
sion. Finally both shook their heads in sympa- 
thy for the hopeless ignorance of the other and 
gave up the argument. 

One point more, and the most striking, was the 
Germans' absolute confidence in success. That 
the French would ever be able to save Paris did 
not seem to occur to any of those I met on von 
Kluck's line of march. It was largely a holiday 
promenade with lots of fighting on the way. 



158 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

On August 3 the commandant at Valenciennes 
told me they would be in Paris September 4, the 
anniversary of Sedan ; two days later the comman- 
dant at Solesmes said he would meet me in Paris 
September 5 ; at St. Quentin, the commandant, 
after giving me a pass to Paris itself, agreed to 
meet me there September 7. 

The same confidence prevailed among the 
men. All counted on disporting themselves on 
the Paris boulevards by the middle of the month. 
Even when the retreat to the Aisne began they 
did not seem particularly upset. There was little 
more than the natural ennui caused by the feel- 
ing that they would have to go back again over 
the same ground. 

I have written thus fully because, while admit- 
ting all the relentlessness and devastation of the 
German machine, my three weeks of practically 
unrestricted travel justified almost nothing of 
the stories of criminality and atrocities commonly 
reported. Heaven knows, the horrors of this 
war and the responsibilities resting on those who 
caused it are terrible enough without drawing a 
false and unjust picture of the enemy. 



VIII 
GERMANY IN THE SUBURBS OF PARIS 

What a Paris it was I awoke to to-day on this 
memorable 8th of September ! A sadness and a 
fear oppressed the atmosphere ; a silence almost 
like the silence of the dead drove like a heavy 
mist through the deserted streets. The joy that 
I had felt the previous day at the retreat of the 
Germans had not, it seems, been founded on fact. 
The field of battle had indeed receded from Paris, 
but it was the German's strategic flanking move 
which took them around to the southeast of the 
capital. The capture of the proud city seemed 
imminent, almost certain to the few Parisians left. 
The city's whole vast area seemed to yawn open, 
waiting, like an empty sepulchre. The govern- 
ment had already fled to Boulogne ; only the Am- 
erican Embassy of all the official bodies remained. 

It was fearfully, fearfully depressing. The 
life and gaiety which had made Paris was even 

IS9 



i6o Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

more conspicuously lacking than when I had set 
out three weeks previously. Paris was now but 
a dreary skeleton of deserted squares and empty 
boulevards. Desolation, desolation, even the few 
people left went nervously and apprehensively 
about their work. Trams ran only as if by 
accident. The big busses which only a few weeks 
before had lumbered so much life through the 
streets were now wallowing, mud-stained and 
battered, over army roads. The few taxis re- 
maining were driven by foreign adventurers 
who had rushed in on the trail of war to turn a 
few pennies from other people's misfortunes. 
The only vehicles which passed with any regu- 
larity were military machines and supply wagons. 
Where before thousands of taxis, automobiles, 
trams, etc., wove together in endless confusion, 
there now remained only enough activity to fur- 
ther accentuate the desolation. Was I drunk or 
dreaming, I asked myself with a start, when from 
the Arc de Triomphe, I looked down the mag- 
nificent sweep of the Champs d'Elysees as I would 
have looked down a long, cheerless Pompeian 
ruin } Paris even at its busiest hours looked much 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris i6i 

as it used to just after dawn had seen the milk- 
man on his rounds. 

A real sign of activity was the hurry-skurrying 
newsboy whom the war had driven almost into 
a frenzy. The newspaper distributing offices at 
edition time were literally besieged, assailed, 
scaled, I almost said, by physical force, by a mob 
of men and boys who fought each other for bun- 
dles, tore madly across the city, and burst wildly 
on to the Boulevards. The scattered groups there 
shook themselves into attention as if waking 
from lethargy, read anxiously through the day's 
bulletins, and then fell back once more into 
gloom. No news, never any news, only short 
vague official communiques, smothered in violent 
outbursts by famous men on German atrocities, 
barbarities, uncouthnesses, etc., ad nauseam. The 
Parisian starved for facts. 

With all the giant minds of France vying 
with each other in vilification of the German and 
all things German, it was odd to see the Czar 
almost deified, and despotic Russia looked upon 
as the saviour of Republican France from bar- 
baric Germany. What strange bed-fellows war 



1 62 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

makes ! Nor did there seem to them anything 
barbaric, even unsportsman-like, in calling black 
men from their African homes to defend a civ- 
ilization and a country to whom their greatest 
relationship had been that of the conquered to 
the conqueror. 

The occasional khaki-clad Tommie caused the 
greatest enthusiasm. For the second, Parisians 
would forget their depression and sputter away 
excitedly to the unruffled Englishmen. Once I 
heard a Tommie tell one member of a small group 
of worshippers that he had seen neither money 
nor cigarettes in six weeks. Immediately the 
Frenchman turned out every cigarette he had, 
the crowd followed suit, and a big stranger came 
forward with a five-franc note "to drink my son's' 
health when you meet him in Berlin." He was a 
Russian. 

Americans, once the scorned Yankee of the 
nation of shopkeepers, could now sit back and 
smile. All France came to them. Always, 
when I said I was American, not English, I was 
given a courteous bow and the fervent com- 
pliment "Ah, the same thing. Monsieur, the 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 163 

same thing." One night, crossing the Pont from 
the Place de la Concorde to the Chambre des 
Deputies, it was so pitch black that with no 
light on my bicycle I could neither see my way, 
nor, until an iron hand gripped my shoulder, 
recognize that a gruff voice near by was addressed 
to me. A gendarme hauled me over to the can- 
dle in his station, grilled me severely on suspicion 
of being a German, and finally after a painful 
hour, became convinced I was really an American. 
Then he said : 

"Ah, the Americans are glorious. Everyone 
knows they have three Ambassadors here now. 
They are soon going to stop these German bar- 
barities." 

That was the common belief. The three Am- 
bassadors, I hastened to learn the next day, 
were Herrick, present, Sharp, coming, and Bacon, 
past. 

This incident on the Seine bridge well illustrates 
the transformation which had gripped Paris. 
Paris, the bright, sparkling city, gay with myriad 
lights, was as black as a tomb. The Place de la 
Concorde, the most beautiful square at night in 



164 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the world, was so dark it was positively nerve- 
racking to walk across it on account of occa- 
sional fleeting bicyles or taxis. The Boulevard 
St. Germain, up which I passed to my lodgings, 
was so dark I could not even read the street- 
signs. There was neither arc, shop, nor restau- 
rant light. 

The few restaurants which still remained open 
were forced to shut at 8 o'clock. After that it 
was almost impossible to find an eating-place. 
By 9 o'clock everyone was rushing home ; by 10 
only a few stragglers remained ; by 1 1 the mag- 
nificent boulevards saw only a few gendarmes or 
a taxi scuttling through the darkness. It was 
the aspect of Pompeii, but under it was a great 
pulsating heart almost bursting with grief. 

Tension increased hourly. Paris had seen the 
great German machine rush over the ruins of 
"impregnable" forts, over the corps of the Brit- 
ish Expeditionary Force, over the hastily concen- 
trated French, past Valenciennes, past St. Quen- 
tin, past Compiegne, even to the suburbs of the 
capital itself. Was it another 1870, a second 
Sedan, a great disaster in some unsung spot ? 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 165 

No, it was not ! It could not be ; the Parisians 
simply, flatly refused to have it so. The papers 
made a bold heroic front by recounting brave 
resistance, plans for drawing the Germans on for 
annihilation, etc., to the limit of French ingenuity. 
But it all seemed almost puerile in the face of 
that gigantic moral courage which saw but would 
not be convinced, which hoped against hope. 

Suddenly, one afternoon, came the first German 
aeroplane. Crowds, it had not seemed there 
were so many persons left, flocked to the Boule- 
vards. All faces were turned upwards with a 
mixture of fear and hatred. It was the precursor 
of almost daily visits, timed as if by schedule for 
the tea-hour. Sarcastic messages were dropped, 
reports of Russian disasters, and the dry ad- 
vice : 

"Parisians, you have naught to do but surren- 
der. The German army is at your gates." 

Then, unexpectedly, came the dreaded bombs. 
Paris shivered at this terrible, irresistible attack 
from the air. The flood of sarcasm, hoots, and 
jeers which followed when it was found they had 
done no more than dig up a few holes in the streets 



1 66 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

only showed the weight of apprehension which 
had welled up within. That most fearsome dan- 
ger, at least, had evaporated. 

Still the great German mass was battling at 
the gates. Uhlans, those most-dreaded of war- 
riors, had penetrated, it was commonly reported, 
through the two outer lines of fortifications to 
within three miles of the old walls of the city. 
It seemed impossible that the city could be kept 
inviolate from the barbarian presence, and yet a 
sort of blind confidence, the confidence of despera- 
tion, said that Paris would be saved — how no one 
knew. But saved, yes, most emphatically yes. 

By now Paris had hung in breathless suspense 
for five days, five days of fear, apprehension, and 
helplessness, with naught to do but wait, wait, 
wait, for the outcome of the fearful battle along 
the Marne. Then suddenly, when the last shred 
of hope had almost gone, came little rumors of 
victory, little reports of advances, little rifts of 
light in a black situation. They continued, they 
grew, they became more definite till at last Paris 
with official confirmation burst out in one great 
song of joy. 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 167 

Instantly there sprang up a new life. The 
newspapers became transformed. From mere 
diatribes of patriotism, they ascended to wild 
shouts of victory. That the German army was 
now but threescore miles away, that it might^ be 
retreating only to await reenforcements or draw 
the French into a trap was not considered ; the 
mighty avalanche had been stemmed and turned 
back; the French army had proved itself; 1870 
was not to be again. France had won a glorious 
victory ; the war was all but over. 

For me it meant action. During these anxious 
days I had picked up another American of my own 
age, who gave me all sorts of excitement, expe- 
rience, wisdom, and regrets. His name was Rader, 
and he has featured heavily in news despatches 
as well as originating a Central News story which 
was cabled home, that a Mr. Wheeler of Boston, 
who had had all my experiences line for line, had 
been riddled by 30 bullets by a German firing- 
squad and then placed in a shallow grave with 
the earth shoved over him with a dull thudding 
sound. Rader claimed to be an expert aviator; 
yes, indeed, had flown everywhere. He was a 



1 68 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

trained reporter, certainly ; intended to write up 
Lieutenant Porte's transatlantic flight. He was 
an experienced cinema man and did have a won- 
derful machine. Finally, between you and me, 
he had come over to sell to the French govern- 
ment the invention of a Philadephian named 
Steinmetz, by which you could trail a bomb hun- 
dreds of feet below an aeroplane and blow up 
whatever you wanted to. 

He had a plan. We'd join the French aviation 
corps, go up with the cinema, beat the world with 
the first battle-movies from the air ever taken. 
He would drive and I would run the telephoto on 
the carnage below. Well, for three days we 
talked, argued, explained, to one official after the 
other; we went from the Aero Club to the min- 
ister of war and back to the Aero Club, and at 
last having almost touched hands with success, 
we lost out because he had no proper pilot papers. 
He said he had lost them for flying over a city. 

This hope gone, we set out to reconnoitre 
going to the front again. On a beautiful Sunday 
afternoon we took the train as far as the suburb 
of Lagny, where further riding was cut off by 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 169 

blown-up bridges, and then walked out over what 
had been the battle-fields. All of Paris was doing 
the same. Men, women, and children, old and 
young, with lunch-baskets and without, flocked 
along the road to see where "les barbares" had 
been. Soldiers strolled about, beaming with joy. 
Everyone was exuberant and exultant. It was 
a great holiday picnic, held only a few days after 
on one of the world's bloodiest battle-fields, and 
while even then the enemy was barely over the 
crest of the next hills beyond. Is anything truly 
so buoyant, so child-like, as the Parisian ? 

Once, standing where less than a week before 
the Germans had stood, I looked off beyond lines 
of barbed wires, beyond ugly scars running over 
the ground, between two rows of skinned trees, 
into the hazy distance. There, hard against the 
sky-line, rose a graceful web-like spire. I con- 
templated it long and thoughtfully. Could it be ? 

"Monsieur, what is that in the distance?" I 
asked. 

"That, Monsieur, is the Eiffel Tower." 

The Eiffel Tower ! Great Heavens, and the 
Germans had stood less than a week ago where 



lyo Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

I was standing now. Think of it — that super- 
human dash through Belgium, through France, 
fifteen to thirty miles a day, constant fighting, 
little sleeping, scant provisions, and finally the 
crest of this last hill — and the Eiffel Tower in the 
distance. Imagine the joy ; the officers with swords 
on high pointing to where Paris could be actually 
seen; calling for one last superhuman effort; 
and then — the recoil. Think of the agony of 
that turning back ! I can imagine the last glance 
at the fairy-like structure, the glance of the 
nation's whole soul, baffled, defeated, the emo- 
tions almost powerful enough to lift the van- 
quished up and dash him against the tower's 
iron ribs ; the sob of anger and anguish as 7aces 
were finally turned in retreat. Truly it is one 
of the great tragedies of history, |this retreat, for 
glorious though it was for the French, it was 
by just the same measure anguishing to the 
Germans. 

Indeed the Germans were so near Paris that 
not only could they actually see it, but at places, 
as at Lagny, they could have taken a tram-car 
into the capital. 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 171 

With the ground laid out by this reconnoitre 
Rader and I set out two days later, moving- 
picture' machine and all. Trouble got up early 
to meet us. A surly police commissioner, the 
first, by the way, I had met, railed and stormed, 
refused us a passport, and ordered us back to 
Paris. Consequently, we went over this gentle- 
man's head to the military commander. Very 
pleasantly he too refused us a pass and forbade us 
to use our movie outfit. It was twelve miles from 
where we were to Meaux, too far to walk with our 
heavy outfit, and it was almost beyond possi- 
bility to find a carriage or auto. 

Luck, bad French, and perseverance, however, 
almost always pull one through. From a hint 
dropped by a Frenchman who spoke English and 
with the aid of a score of others who did not, we 
stumbled on a little river tug requisitioned by 
the army to carry salt up the Marne to the sol- 
diers. A good-natured captain, not even interested 
in our formidable movie apparatus, was only too 
glad to let us come along, without charge at that. 
So, nestled comfortably in a pile of hay, with our 
machines carefully buried at the bottom, and 



172 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

with a good lunch and a bottle of wine at our sides, 
we steamed leisurely down the little stream, a 
dreamy, cloudless sky overhead and serried lines 
of sentries along the banks. It was a beautiful 
trip, serene and uneventful, with an occasional 
stop for locks or the customary glass of wine, 
through a country where it was said not even a 
rabbit could go. 

Every bridge along the whole way stood yawn- 
ing in two or crumbled in ruins, the work of 
precipitous British engineers in their flight be- 
hind the protection of the river. In the water 
beneath one of them could be seen the upturned 
wheels of a German automobile which unknowingly 
had rushed at high speed into the broken part. 
For all anyone knew the corpses were still pinned 
in their death-seats. 

Meaux slipped quietly by without appeal to us. 
At last about dusk, we made the little town of 
Germigny-l'Eveque, at the foot of the battle-field 
of the Marne, where England, France, and Ger- 
many had locked horns for five fearful days. 
'Twas a forlorn town indeed, almost entirely 
deserted and oppressive with the after-battle 




o 

'T3 



O 



^ a, 

c Q, 

o o 

_Q CO 






Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 173 

stillness. We came to a little inn where we 
hoped to have supper and spend the night. An 
old lady, too feeble to flee when the Germans 
had come, and now garrulous in her excitement, 
said she could not even give us coff'ee. Her 
one thought in life seemed to be to show us the 
havoc the Germans had wrought, the mattresses, 
straw, and filth which littered every room almost 
knee-deep ; the broken windows, mirrors, and 
furniture ; the drawers pulled out and ransacked. 

We left her whimpering at the doorway and 
pushed on across the river to Vareddes. There 
things were even worse. Great holes were rent 
in walls and buildings by shell fire, and the whole 
town scarred with rifle bullets. Only a half-dozen 
men remained of the entire population, and one 
of these, an ugly customer, would gladly have 
strangled Rader and me on mere suspicion if it 
had not been that we had attached to ourselves 
a quiet little French artist who was seeking some 
sick relatives. 

Here, by the best of fortune and much hard 
work with a penknife, I was able to get one of the 
Requisition Orders which I had seen on the official 



174 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

bulletin boards all the way from the Belgian 
frontier. I give a translation as showing the 
minutiae of military organization and the direct 
personal application of war. 

"By application of the laws and decrees of 
military requisition, it is ordered that every owner : 
(i) of animals under registration, (2) of animals, 
registration postponed as temporarily unfit for 
service, (3) of stallions and mares six years old or 
of mules 4 years old since the last registration (the 
age to be counted from January i of the year of 
birth), (4) of animals brought into the commune 
since the last registration, or not presented then 
for whatever reason and being of the age indicated 
above, must present them on the sixth day of 
mobilization at 9 o'clock in the morning to Com- 
mission of Requisition Number 14. 

"The animals must be brought with snaffle- 
bridle, halter provided with a tether, and shoeing 
in good condition. Owners of carriages classed 
since the day of registration are ordered to bring 
them to the place of summons together with the 
horses. If one of these carriages has been replaced 
by another since the last registration, the new 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 175 

carriage must be presented to the Commission. 
All carriages subject to requisition must be brought 
before the Commission, even if their team is com- 
posed of animals discharged or under age. The 
carriages and harnesses must be in good condition 
and the carriages provided with their reins, awn- 
ings, and grease-plugs as far as possible. The 
Mayor or his representative must present himself 
at the place of summons ; he will bring with him 
tables Number 2 and 2^ since the last registration. 

"Every violation of the foregoing rules will be 
punished with the full rigor of the law." 

By now it was dismally dark and pouring rain. 
There was nothing to eat and no place to sleep. 
At last, as Rader and I were discussing breaking 
into a house, our ugly friend splashed up the slimy 
street to suggest we go to the Town Hall. We 
found the building black and empty. A greasy 
lantern gave us light and we went upstairs to the 
Mayor's office, which we found littered with straw, 
bandages, and bloodsoaked German uniforms 
and piles of local maps and charts. 

There, amidst all the horrible wreckage, we had 
supper of hard bread and sweet chocolate. By 



176 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

good fortune Rader, nosing about inquisitively, 
unearthed a squeaking phonograph which gave 
us music unusual enough to drive away the evil 
memories of the place. Then with the rain falling 
in torrents outside, we picked our way to the city 
jail and spent the night in the straw. It was a 
hard night, and its memory was made no more 
pleasant when on rising I found that a comforter 
I had dragged over me for shelter was heavily 
clotted with blood. 

Early the next day, with little breakfast and 
covered with straw, we climbed a gentle hill to 
what had been one of the main German posi- 
tions. A rim of trenches, filled with straw and 
empty cartridges, ran across the top. Big gaping 
shell wounds with exploded jackets and thousands 
of pieces of shrapnel scattered about testified to 
the efliciency of French artillery. Slightly to the 
rear were the big holes where heavy guns had been 
set, and where empty shells and in some cases live 
ones abandoned in retreat attested the work which 
had been done. All about were new-made graves 
so thinly covered that in spots nests of maggots 
as big as one's fist were visible at their filthy work. 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 177 

Over all hung the silence of death. The co- 
lossal struggle so recently waged there was already 
fading into history, and a few birds and curious 
peasants alone remained as if to mock what had 
there taken place. Scarred, deserted, unterri- 
fied, the beautiful, smiling country lay wide open 
to Heaven as if in testimony of the futility and 
shame of it all. Man had come, looked, and 
done his horrible work, and now Nature lay 
wounded but quiet to meditate the wickedness. 

Two little red-roofed villages lay peaceful in 
the sun below, deserted. Beyond the gentle, 
silvery Marne wound about through rich green 
fields, marked out like checker boards. Farther 
still were the heights on which the English and 
the French had in their desperation prepared their 
catapult. It was a glorious country, rich, fer- 
tile, smiling. 

The great German wedge which had driven 
straight towards the heart of France had fought 
its way to a magnificent position. Soldiers drag- 
ging the heavy artillery up the hill-crest were re- 
warded by looking over Meaux cathedral almost 
into Paris itself. But the terrible weakness of 



1 78 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the situation was all too plainly shown by the 
shell-marks visible on both sides of the hill. 
The German forces were caught squarely between 
two fires. Across the bridgeless Marne stood 
France's whole army, intact, carefully intrenched ; 
on the German flank, almost on their rear, there 
suddenly burst that mysterious army which so 
dramatically crushed von Kluck's meteoric dash. 

It seemed as if here on this very hill the German 
bolt had been spent. Their constantly thinning 
line of men, exhausted by four weeks of super- 
human efl^ort and crippled by a three-hundred- 
mile line of army transport communication, had 
come for the first time against a real French army, 
an army practically fresh in strength, settled in 
positions of its own choosing, protected by a 
bridgeless river, and with a line of communica- 
tions not ten miles long. The Germans were 
forced to come to the big battle nearly spent. 
For five days they pounded, until when that 
cloud came up on their flank, they slipped out 
sideways towards the east and back to the Aisne. 

Somehow we ourselves felt like ghouls as we 
moved about taking moving pictures. The earth 



Germany in the Suburbs of Paris 179 

seemed hallowed by the passions and struggles 
which had passed over it. The dead alone 
seemed to have title to it. So, after I had served 
as a dead German and worked other dodges of 
the movie game, we were only too glad to go 
back to Paris. Strangely enough, the only people 
we saw on the way were three American women 
who had come out to look around. 



IX 
PRISONER AGAIN 

And now by this eighteenth day of September 
the forces of France, England, and Germany were 
locked in another terrible battle along the Aisne. 
The front had moved over lOO kilometres back 
from Paris, and reports, self-consciously vague, 
showed the Allies' left by Compiegne slowly 
pushing the Germans in towards destruction at 
their centre. "Les barbares" were said to be 
boxed and cut off from supplies of food, gasoline, 
and ammunition, and a decisive victory was 
momentarily expected in Paris. So bad indeed 
was the reported plight of the Germans that 
post-mortems on dead soldiers were said to show 
that many had nothing in their stomachs but 
sand. 

Despite fervent oaths during my first trip that 
if I survived I would never try to go out to the 
front again, the call of that mighty struggle could 

i8o 



Prisoner Again i8i 

not be denied. Rader, too, was blusteringly anx- 
ious to go out. So together we secured knapsacks 
for extra clothing, chocolate, sardines, bread, and 
many packages of cigarettes, which I had learned 
had the value of gold. As a sop to conscience we 
spent a whole day rustling from one official to an- 
other for passports, but might as well have tried 
to break into heaven. A newspaperman was 
about as popular as a leper, and we were forced 
to set out with only our American passports, which 
had already proved their worthlessness. 

By dint of tremendous effort we succeeded in 
getting our bicycles, our knapsacks, and our- 
selves into the Gare du Nord, where after another 
struggle we loaded the whole entourage on to a 
train jammed with peasants and sightseers. 
We hitched our way along through the forts of 
Paris, past great areas of barbed-wire entangle- 
ments and destroyed woods, as far as Montsoult, 
where we were unceremoniously dumped out 
into an inhospitable and deserted countryside. 
Beyond that line civilians were not supposed to 
go ; beyond it lay almost certain imprisonment, 
perhaps in conformity with the spy mania. 



1 82 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Discretion was gone ; we jumped on our bicy- 
cles and were off. Soon we passed the beautiful 
Chateau at Chantilly, which had been entered 
but not harmed by the Germans, and spent the 
night near by. Next day we pedalled on to Sen- 
lis. The buildings which on my entry with the 
Germans ten days before had been a mass of wild, 
raging flame were now only cold piles of crumbled 
masonry and half-standing walls. Even so soon, 
however, the industrious French people had come 
back to begin the work of reconstruction, as 
busy as ants about an ant-hill into which one 
has stuck a stick. The beautiful mansion which 
I had occupied with my two German friends 
remained as cold and deserted as when we had 
left it. 

On we went through Villeneuve, where only two 
weeks ago but twelve men out of five hundred had 
remained. A nice old peasant friend of my previous 
trip hailed me in passing, and took me into his shop 
to show the destruction the Germans had wrought, 
and the blood-stained helmet and cuirass of a 
French cavalryman who had been shot in the 
forehead on the roadway just outside and crawled 



Prisoner Again 183 

into the house to die. Stains were still visible 
on the floor ; the corpse had been buried outside. 

At Verberie we came across two wounded Tom- 
mies of the Belfast Fusilliers, youngsters well 
under twenty, who had lain seriously ill for three 
whole weeks, practically unattended in an impro- 
vised Red Cross hospital. One had carried a bullet 
in his knee all that time and could not straighten 
out his leg ; the other had a bad shoulder wound. 

*'It was three weeks ago," one of them said 
weakly, "that we came into this town. We 
weren't expecting any trouble ; the Dutchers 
were well away, and we had flags out and every- 
thing like dress parade. Suddenly a machine- 
gun opened wide on us ; we couldn't tell from 
where, and we went down like flies. Something 
bowled me on to my face and I couldn't get up 
again. I'd got it on the knee. There were half a 
dozen others crawling around too, and our only 
idea was to get out of that hell. We crawled to 
a house, smashed in the door with our guns, and 
crawled inside. Pretty soon the firing stopped, 
and I guess our boys had got it good and plenty. 
Then a big German officer burst in the door. 



184 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"'Come out here, you dirty beasts. Come 
out, you're going to get shot. There's no mercy 
for dogs like you. What right have you to be 
fighting over here, anyway t you and your Ind- 
ian niggers V 

"He was like a mad bull. We tried to get up 
but couldn't. He swore wildly at us and slapped 
us with his sword. God knows what would have 
happened if a German Red Cross man hadn't 
happened to come in ; I guess we would all have 
been finished. At last he let the Red Cross man 
have us, and here we've been ever since." 

Poor kids, I thought, they certainly had seen 
war. When I begged them to let me do some- 
thing for them, one, after looking at the other, 
stammered timorously : 

"We haven't had a fag since we've been here." 

Truly it would have done your soul good to 
have seen the radiance which lit up their faces 
when I gave them a whole package. Cigarettes 
to a Tommie are like water to a man dying of 
thirst. 

Faintly now, ever so faintly, we could hear 
the big guns again. Ah, that indeed seemed like 



Prisoner Again 185 

home. I don't know why, but in a short time the 
noise of artillery had come to fascinate me, to 
leave almost a painful void when absent, to cre- 
ate a craving for more when present. It was a 
little like the drunkard's liking for drink perhaps, 
certainly it was equally undesirable. It was 
the horror and awesomeness of the whole thing 
that enthralled one, body and soul. 

"We'll get pinched, Phil," I remarked as we 
hastened towards it. 

"I don't care," Rader replied. "We've got to 
get there." 

At La Croix St. Ouen we ran into things. The 
little town was thick with French cavalry. We 
rode on as nonchalantly as possible, straight 
through, and were just about out when a heavy 
voice called us. We dismounted and were led 
back to a group of under-ofHcers. Things were 
going badly for us till Phil handed out a ciga- 
rette ; then matters changed and we became 
almost guests. It occurred to someone to call 
two English Tommies who had been split oflF 
from their own regiment and formally amal- 
gamated with the French. 



1 86 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Well, by Jove," said one, "you are nervy. 
It's jolly nasty up there, you know ; let's have a 
drink." 

We did — and several. Pretty soon the other 
Tommie took an empty cartridge out of his 
pocket and looked at it fondly. 

"I say," he said, "what do you think of that .f* 
It's jolly nice, really. It got my first German. 
You see, we'd just got out from England and 
only eight hours later were in the trenches. We 
were opposite a little village on the crest of a 
hill, God knows where, up Belgium way is all 
I know. Pretty quick work, though, eight 
hours, wasn't it?" 

"It certainly was," I replied. "How'd you 
like it.?" 

" Beastly unpleasant," he went on. " I thought 
I'd funk out at first. It wasn't the shells that 
bothered me so much ; somehow we'd come out 
expecting them. It's the little things you don't 
expect that give you a turn. I suppose it's be- 
cause you're a bit nervous, anyway. Take the 
rain-water ; it was up to our knees and no chance 
to get away from it. There wasn't a bally thing 



Prisoner Again 187 

to smoke, either, not a fag in the whole company. 
And you get fearful fed up when there's not a 
bally thing to do but be a target — it gets on your 
nerves." 

He seemed to be losing the thread of his story. 
I asked how long he was there. 

"God knows," he replied. "Years it seemed, 
and yet I don't suppose it was long, either. I 
felt so cramped and nervous it seemed as though 
I'd blow up — and then someone took to sniping. 
There was an officer in the nearest German 
trenches — I could just make him out — and I 
drew my gun on him. It's a funny feeling the 
first time you shoot at a man, and it was quite a 
while before I let go. I caught him cold, and he 
crumpled up as if he hadn't a bone in his body." 

He paused a moment, juggling the empty 
shell in his fingers. His expression was proud and 
joyous. 

"Well," he went on, "I slipped that cartridge 
out on the spot. It was my first German and I 
thought what a bully souvenir it would make for 
the wife. First-class, eh 1 Don't you think 
she'll like it.?" 



1 88 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Weakly I nodded assent. Yet I could not but 
wonder what a wife, perhaps a mother, would 
think of this "first-class" souvenir. Would she, 
too, glorify in this man-killing, or would she, as I 
did, shudder \ 

My friend, however, had well paid for his 
sport. Three regiments, one after another, had 
been piled up before the German artillery when 
his was ordered in. Somehow he lived through 
it to suffer the horrors of the Great Retreat. 
Once they turned to charge with the bayonet; 
once the old abandoned formations ordered by 
their old-time Captain drew on them the fire of 
their own artillery. In vain they waved flags 
and handkerchiefs, till with shells bursting mur- 
derously around them they sought shelter be- 
hind a large factory. 

Then one night in the helter-skelter pell-mell 
of the retreat he was left out on sentry duty with- 
out relief. For hours and hours he waited, till 
after dawn, and, on returning, found his regi- 
ment had decamped in the midst of the night. 
He struck out southwards alone, along the open 
road with no idea where to go, till by chance he 



Prisoner Again 189 

ran into the French troops he was now with. 
Eight times in succession they beat against the 
enemy's lines before finally breaking free. One 
day they were under fire twenty times ; one night 
they slept within one hundred yards of the en- 
emy's guns and learned the fact only when greeted 
with a murderous fire at dawn. 

And now the two Tommies were treated as 
kings. Most of their time passed in making merry 
with their new comrades, who were only^too glad 
to lionize their strange recruits. The only draw- 
back, they said, was that they always had to be 
the last to flee, always had to seek the spot of 
greatest danger. There was one little French- 
man they told me who was their very idol. 
Imagine my surprise, and his too, when on their 
seeking him out, I found him to be none other 
than the sergeant who had done so much for me 
when I had been a prisoner at Nanteuil. 

"Ah," he said, "I have thought of you many 
times. I was afraid we had made it so hot for 
you that you would not come back. And now 
you come. I am glad. It is very interesting 
now." 



190 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

But light was fading, and all too soon it was 
necessary to push on. Our friends saw us on 
past the guards and we found ourselves once 
more within the lines. All along the way lay 
the backwash of a huge army ; in one place over 
a hundred dust-covered Paris motor-busses ; in 
another a great detachment of cavalry already 
pitching camp for the night. Horses were being 
tethered and camp-fires lit as we came to the 
outskirts of Compiegne. 

What a different city it was from the Com- 
piegne I had entered fifteen days before with the 
Germans. The sombre gray had been replaced 
with uniforms of blue and red. Fear and tense- 
ness had given way to joy and freedom. No dam- 
age was visible. It was just like returning home 
when we went to the little inn where I had stayed 
before. But now, instead of eating behind a par- 
tition with a trio of drunken German soldiers 
blustering in the main room, we mixed freely and 
joyously with the exuberant French. 

The next morning the moment we awoke a 
deep pounding roar not unlike the heavy rumble 



Prisoner Again 191 

of a distant thunderstorm echoed in our ears. 
Grim, sullen, fearful, the big guns were at their 
awful work again. The heavy artillery of two 
monstrous armies was snarling at each other, 
till the whole heaven echoed with the ugly rever- 
beration. For eight days now the first flush of 
dawn had seen the gunners take their positions 
with never a let-up, never a moment of relaxa- 
tion unless for taking another position or allow- 
ing the red-hot barrels to cool. And always men 
torn, cut, ripped open in that recrudescence of 
their primitive savagery. 

Never was noise so magnetic as that of the 
big guns of the battle of the Aisne. Full well we 
realized we would certainly be caught ; that 
men's passions were at fever heat ; that short 
shift was made of suspicious cases. It mattered 
not ; the call of the big guns overruled all. Where 
the great elemental forces of man were playing 
such havoc, where the world's greatest powers 
had been gripped in a death-struggle for eight 
days without decision, where lives of men were as 
chaff before the lives of nations, oh, it was im- 
possible to pass it by ! We were magnetized, 



192 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

mesmerized by the awful music. To see, to feel, 
to be near, smashed into atoms all thought of 
caution or safety. 

Of course we tried to get papers ; of course we 
failed. The Mayor frankly suspected us ; a 
British officer laconically remarked that we 
could take our chances, but he would like to see 
us when we got back. We could get nothing but 
our valueless American passports already sus- 
piciously vised for travel outside France. 

"Phil," I said, "we're sure to get it. No man 
alive can run along that battle-line to Soissons 
and the novelty of jail life with foodless days, 
sleepless nights, and rigorous inquisitions has 
worn off a bit for me. Still I'm for it if you 
are. 

"Bet your life," said Phil. "Let's not cry 
before we're hurt." 

It was a beautiful day as we bicycled out of 
the city on to a splendid wood road. Rich sun- 
light streamed through the reddening trees and 
gave a welcome warmth to the chill air of the 
forest. We passed occasional little farm-houses, 
deserted and silent, old men standing awestruck 



Prisoner Again 193 

at the doors, their faces ever towards the thunder. 
A few women were crying with fear; now and 
then a cart, piled high with a few precious posses- 
sions, careened madly along the road, bearing the 
last few crazed peasants in wild flight from the 
horrors they could stand no longer — such is the 
incidental scourge of war. 

Then came the first wounded, limping, strug- 
gling, straggling along like spectres through the 
quiet road. One hopped along painfully on one 
foot, the other foot dangling as though unstrung. 
Another faltered step by step, his head swathed 
in bandages, on one side a slit for his eye, on the 
other a coloring of rich red. Often they came in 
pairs, one supporting the other; sometimes in 
ragged, bandaged, blood-stained groups. Their 
eyes looked blankly and unseeing towards us. 
Hardly a word passed between them. They 
seemed no longer men, but mere automatons 
striving without hope only to get away. The God 
of Battle had had his fill ; he was now but vomit- 
ing forth what he no longer wanted. How many, 
I wondered, would ever reach the end of the wood- 
road } 



194 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Among them were scores of Turcos, big, stal- 
wart, swarthy, who had been uprooted from the 
peace and happiness of their native land to fight 
a war they knew nor cared not of. Fierce, brutal, 
even barbarous, they are said to be in the heat of 
battle, but those who passed us certainly did not 
look it. Their big soft eyes were liquid and melt- 
ing. Their fez and baggy trousers fitted oddly 
in this forest of France. What we call civiliza- 
tion certainly exacts a bitter toll from those who 
are forced by gunfire to accept it. 

Louder and more sullen were the big guns now. 
We hastened along in a sort of grim silence. Sud- 
denly we burst out of the woods — puflfs of white 
smoke in the air, a twinkling flash, another puff 

— Great Heavens ! it was bursting shells — and 
yes, there were men over there beneath them — 
men with red pantaloons — trenches just under 
the crest — the Germans had the range exactly 

— ah, God, what a massacre ! Boom, way off 
in the distance ; a sobbing, racking wail ; it 
vibrated like a gigantic string; it mounted into 
a whistling, screaming shriek; it crashed with a 
final, stunning crash into a thousand atoms ; a 



Prisoner Again 195 

twinkling flash against the azure blue ; a rain of 
lead on the helpless men below ; a little cotton- 
ball of white smoke drifted off in the air — and 
God knows how many more souls were loosed 
for their last resting-place. Another express 
tram roar, another crash, another cotton-ball 
of smoke, and another, and another, and an- 
other. 

The men, poor devils, were on the crest of a 
ridge just across the Aisne off to our extreme left. 
Before us was a big meadow land, a seething whirl- 
pool of wagons, cavalry, and soldiers, where the 
first line of reserves, supplies, and convoys stood 
ready to supply the advance trenches. Eddies 
of movement were visible here and there, where 
one little unit sought to extricate itself to go its 
way. Directly in front of us the road we were 
on ran down past a thin line of peasant homes, 
through the confusion of the meadow, past a 
cross-roads running back into the woods behind, 
and on into the trees on the other side. Along 
it two ill-defined lines of wagons worked their 
way in opposite directions, one of them turning 
off at the cross-roads even as we watched. 



196 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

'Twas just across the narrow Aisne, barely 
seventy-five yards wide, that the German shells 
were bursting not a quarter of a mile away. The 
French had intrenched just below the top of a 
gentle ridge paralleling the river, a ridge which 
will probably be distinguished in history as the 
heights of the Aisne. Below, swarms of men 
waited, waited, for the unseen death from above. 

Click, click, click, the snapping, clacking rattle 
of the Maxim spitting forth its torrents of bullets, 
hideous as the devil's own cackle, a noise not of 
men but of demons. It barked above and beyond 
the screech of the big guns ; it was silenced mo- 
mentarily during the explosions, only to break 
out with harsher venom in the ensuing silence. 
The skeleton of death itself could alone by snap- 
ping all its bones together in hollow frenzy have 
equalled this inhuman noise. And the gunner, 
lying flat on his belly, sighting down the ranks 
before him — 

Where, I wondered, were the glories of war, 
the heroic charges, the cavalry dashing through 
a rain of smoke and iron, the batteries close 
behind, messengers, aides-de-camp, and orderlies 



Prisoner Again 197 

dashing about ; where indeed was the bird's-eye 
battle-scene which I had visuaHzed from paint- 
ings and war books ? Few such delusions were 
held by those poor devils crouching resignedly 
in the trenches across the river while death flared 
down on them from above, and little heroism or 
grandeur of soul was shown by the men flounder- 
ing around on the road before me. 

Modern battle is the cold, calculating work of 
science, largely shorn of the human element. 
Men mechanically load and unload artillery, 
firing in cold blood without enthusiasm, even with- 
out knowledge of results, at other men who die 
without knowledge of whence came the fatal 
missiles. The rifle has become about as useful 
as a toothpick ; there is no defence against shrap- 
nel ; it is simply a case of whether it gets you or 
the man beside you. Rader and I watched this 
long-distance slaughter for a long, long time. 

"Well, Phil," I said, "there's your battle and 
it's a poor sight. We can now go back to Com- 
piegne, or go ahead and get jailed." 

"Oh, don't cry before you're hurt. Nobody's 
going to bother us." 



198 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"All right; but remember, I've been out 
front before. It's up to you." 

On we went along that road, down into the 
meadow about a quarter of a mile from the burst- 
ing shells among the first-line reservists — how 
far I shall never know. We ran at once into the 
big convoy which was winding serpentine along 
the road for miles. Literally hundreds of great 
autobusses slipped and trundled through the 
heavy slime into which a week's rain and their 
incessant passage had worked the roadway. 
Exhausts open, gears shifting, drivers shouting, 
horsemen dashing back and forth to hasten the 
great centipede, — it was a scene of wild con- 
fusion. 

Bicycling was impossible in that slime and walk- 
ing was not easy. Several times we were forced 
off the road to let a double line of convoys pass ; 
once we went out into a field when a detachment 
of troops was added to the confusion. We had 
gone hardly a hundred yards when a mounted 
officer slouched up through the mud to question 
us. 

"We're gone, Phil." 



Prisoner Again 199 

The officer studied our American passports 
most methodically and then looked down to ask 
what nationality we were. With a few more 
words he waved us on. 

"Well, Phil," I said, "we're by this time, 
but they'll get us yet." 

"Oh, don't cry before you're hurt," ran the 
familiar reply. 

So we continued to slip and slide our way along 
through the mire. We passed an infantry divi- 
sion, guns stacked, waiting for strength to go on, 
passed another division being driven sheep-like 
to the slaughter ; cavalry standing ready beside 
their mounts, hundreds of other men standing 
about, talking and yawning and with their fore- 
most idea that of getting a smoke. No glory, 
no tremendous action, no wild exultation of 
battle. 

We were stopped again. This time it took 
longer, but once more we went free. Soon we 
were squarely flush with the bursting shells. A 
sign said it was twelve miles to Compiegne 
whence we had come. At this spot we were 
held up a third time. 



200 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Phil," I ventured, "it's getting pretty thick. 
We don't stand a chance of making Soissons." 

"Oh, don't hunt trouble ; we're not bitten yet." 

On we went. We passed a short, squat, heavily 
eyebrowed little officer who looked at us glower- 
ingly, but said nothing. To my amazement we 
were within a few rods of the end of that long 
line of men. It seemed as if we were going to get 
through after all, but suddenly a sharp voice 
called out. We turned to find the funny, squat 
little officer after us. His sword and medals 
dangled pompously. A crowd of soldiers at 
once pressed in. 

"Oh, no, you can't go on here. You must go 
back to the etat-major. They will give you a 
proper pass ; most certainly yes." 

"Phil, Pm fed up with this," I said. "Just 
as soon as we walk into headquarters we'll be 
pinched." 

, "Oh, nonsense," came the reply. "We've set 
out for Soissons and we're going to get there. 
Don't cry before you're hurt." 

By now I was angered all the way through. 
It occurred to me that Rader was very pig-headed 



Prisoner Again 201 

to think he knew more about being out front 
than I. 

"All right," I replied. "We'll go till it's you 
who's doing the crying. I know what we're in 
for the moment we see the etat-major. You'll 
find out." 

Nobody seemed to know where headquarters 
were ; nevertheless, every time I saw an officer's 
eye light on us I immediately forestalled inquiries 
by asking directions. We slipped and slid our 
way back till a sudden downpour overtook us. 
Thereupon we took shelter in a little roadside 
house where groups of cavalrymen were sitting 
about nonchalantly eating a late lunch or play- 
ing cards, just as if their fellow-countrymen were 
not going down like flies only a quarter of a mile 
away. They were most courteous and conducted 
us to an open window whence we could look out 
at the breaking shells, now showing a sullen gray 
through the rain. What a miserable thing, 
indeed, this war ; a driving, drenching rain filling 
the trenches knee-deep ; little food ; no smokes ; 
death from an unseen source flaming from above ; 
nothing to do but shiver and wonder when your 



202 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

turn would come. So it was for 400 miles, from 
the North Sea to Switzerland. 

When the storm passed over, we went forth 
once again on the still more slimy roads. By 
much effort we located the etat-major off on a 
side-road and presented ourselves to one of a 
large group of staff officers, standing about along 
the roadway. Briefly I told him who we were 
and what we wanted. Most politely he invited 
us to enter the yard of a pleasant little country 
house. We did, just as the fly goes into the spi- 
der's nest, except that we knew better. The 
gates closed behind us. For the third time I 
was a prisoner. Decidedly war correspondence 
was not all it was recommended to be. 

"Well, Phil.?" I asked. 

"Oh, shut up," he replied. "We've got our 
American passports, haven't we.^*" 

Just then an officer told us to enter the house. 
We did so — and came out more quickly than we 
had gone in. Something grabbed me by the arm, 
and when my thinking apparatus got going again, I 
found myself out on the lawn with an excited 
staff officer asking if I didn't know better than to 



Prisoner Again 203 

burst into a staff meeting. It seemed that when 
I had turned to the right after entering the house, 
I had blundered into a sorrowful meeting of the 
General and staff of the Fifth Division control- 
ling that whole section of the Battle of the Aisne, 
and very much out of sorts because of a bad 
reverse. 

We now became aware of the importance we 
had gained for ourselves. Our officer friend sent 
over a gendarme who led us over near the stable 
and stationed us under a tree. Immediately 
he took three new bronze cartridges out of his 
belt and loaded his ugly stub gun. Pointedly 
he drawled : 

"One for you, Monsieur, one for your friend, 
and another — well, I might miss." 

Comfortable indeed ! Things were getting into 
their stride. To make it more home-like the 
rain started up again and big cold drops splashed 
down off the tree on to us. Rader and I stood 
first on one foot, then on the other ; talking a little, 
smoking a little, wondering a lot. For some rea- 
son the General happened to come out, and when 
he saw us talking together, he went off like a 



204 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

bunch of firecrackers till I thought for a moment 
he was going to have our poor guard shot for 
allowing us such liberty. Thereafter Rader and 
I were not allowed to talk, to smoke, hardly to 
look at each other. Every time we so much as 
changed our positions, the ugly stub of our guard's 
gun took on a very business-like air. For a 
solid hour we stood under that dripping tree till 
an officer came out to find out all about us. After 
hearing my really incredible story, he whipped 
his fist up into my face, put his nose about two 
inches from mine, distorted his eyes till they 
seemed ready to snap, and exclaimed : 

"You're an Austrian." 

"No, Monsieur, I beg your pardon, I'm an 
American — an American newspaperman." 

What a fool I felt denying in meek, disingen- 
uous voice that I was not an Austrian, but only a 
poor dog of a correspondent. 

Then, dripping with rain and shivering with 
cold, they led me into the General Headquarters. 
There three of them took me into a side room for 
the third degree. Found on the firing-line with 
no papers but a German pass to Paris and a 



Prisoner Again 205 

French order of release from jail, I was none too 
cheerful. 

"Have you any arms?" they asked first. 

Instead, they received a baby camera which 
I preferred to give them openly than have them 
discover themselves. Their eyes fairly popped 
with surprise. Cameras are not popular near the 
front, not at all. 

"What else have you.f*" they asked. 

"A German pass to Paris," I replied, with all 
the honesty and guilelessness borne of the convic- 
tion that they would surely find it on me if I did 
not show it to them. I might as well have 
exploded a bomb. After a minute examination 
they rummaged through my knapsack, which 
yielded three maps. It made no difference that 
one was of France, one of Belgium, and the third 
of Paris ; they were maps just the same, and sus- 
picious characters always carry maps. 

A camera, a German pass to Paris, three maps 
— I wonder if I could have done better if I had 
deliberately set out to get shot t From their 
expressions I doubt it. I tried to relax the ten- 
sion by handing around some cigarettes ; each of 



2o6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

them soberly and seriously took a whole package, 
a whole package each, and then glowered even 
more darkly. 

"Take off your coat," they ordered. 

I removed the dripping garment while they 
prodded me all over for arms or secret papers. 
For half an hour I stood there in my shirt-sleeves 
(the shirt I had looted at Senlis, incidentally), 
shivering in the cold, while they plied me with 
questions. By sheer will-power I could control 
the chattering of my teeth, only to have the 
shivers run through some other part of me. I 
am sure they must have thought I was having 
the palsy from fear. At last the examination 
was ended. They took everything I had but the 
clothes on my back; then, petrified with cold, 
they led me back to the tree where poor Rader 
was still standing. 



X 

HOW A SPY WOULD FEEL 

"Well," he grunted, "I thought you were 
full of lead hy this time." 

"Wait till you get yours," I started to say, 
when our guard's gun got business-like again. 
It was still raining hard and by now pitch-black. 
Shortly an officer came out and had us led over to 
the roadway. The place was all abustle, and indi- 
cated plainly that the General Headquarters were 
withdrawing for the night. Rader and I were 
ranged side by side, our bicycles being swallowed 
up in the void. A very busy officer said to me : 

"Your left arm," and to Rader, "Your right." 

We held them out — click, a pair of handcuffs 
were snapped on. No word, no explanation ; 
the officer did his work quickly, nonchalantly, 
while Rader and I gaped open-mouthed and 
speechless at our new bond of union. There 
was only three feet of play between us. 

207 



2o8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Once more we were led out on that slimy road. 
Behind us in the darkness we made out the gray 
of three German prisoners similarly handcuffed. 
Behind them in turn five manacled French sol- 
diers, who I later learned were being disciplined 
for drunkenness. Gendarmes with loaded guns 
completed the detachment, a motley one indeed, 
the honor of leading which at least fell to Rader 
and me. 

Handcuffed, in a heavy rain, through an ink- 
black night, we set out for an unknown destina- 
tion. So wet were the roads with the week's 
downpour, so slippery from the passing of busses, 
wagons, artillery, cavalry, and infantry, that for 
every three feet we went forward we seemed to 
slide back two. Rader slipped and slid along 
the side of the road and was in constant danger 
of falling into the ditch beside him. Every time 
that happened the chain yanked viciously at my 
arm till it seemed as if it would be pulled out of 
the socket. The road lay most of the way through 
the forest of Compiegne and literally was so black 
we could not see our hands at arm's length or the 
sky overhead. Meanwhile, the cold, merciless 



How a Spy would Feel 209 

rain soaked through the heavy foliage and chilled 
us to our very bones. 

At times came eerie sounds of life from some- 
where in the darkness in front. Our solitary 
horseman picked his way gingerly ahead till he 
was swallowed up in the blackness. A few sombre 
words of challenge and answer from out front, and 
we splashed on once more through the rain and 
mud. Always it was a supply train, a small detach- 
ment of troops, an army automobile, and once an 
interminable convoy which stopped us. The magic 
word " Prisonniers " would give us passage and 
sometimes cheap sarcasm and jests. Only the talk 
of men, the light of a cigarette, or the movement 
of horses or wagons told how close we were to liv- 
ing things. For miles while we were passing the 
convoy I walked with my free arm before my face 
to save myself in case anything ran into me. 

"Well, Phil," I ventured, "this road doesn't 
go to Soissons." 

"Oh, shut up," he snapped ; "this is bad enough 
without making it worse." 

"Why, we've still got our American passports, 
haven't we .f"' 



2IO Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

It was hours, it seemed eternities, before we 
arrived, exhausted and dripping, at a desolate 
little town which seemed even more funereal 
than the forest we had just left. The occasional 
house which sent us a warm, cheery light through 
the downpour made the desolation of the others 
stand out more drear. It was Pierrefonds, my 
guard told me (a chance cigarette had made him 
friendly), and only eight kilometres from our 
starting-place. Our procession, looking neither 
to right nor left, marched in the most business-like 
manner direct to the mairie or town hall, where we 
were to exist till daybreak. 

There it was that our ugly little captain first 
came on the scene. He had just felled to the floor 
one of the French prisoners amid a torrent of 
oaths when he noticed our guard piling up a good 
bed of straw for Rader and me. He bristled up 
and shouted : 

"They're prisoners just like the rest and must 
get no better." 

Thereupon he saw that we got worse and went 
off to kick the man he had previously knocked 
down — why, I don't know. 



How a Spy would Feel 211 

Rader and I lay down on part of the thin layer 
of straw which covered the whole floor. I had 
expected they would remove our manacles, but 
no chance. Every time in our sleeplessness that 
either forgot, he yanked the other into full con- 
sciousness. Just try sleeping sometime with 
your arm tied to one spot. Chilled through with 
rain, the cold of the damp floor seeping up through 
the thin straw, with no covering at all, my mud- 
soaked feet feeling as though they were incased 
in ice, I remember as some awful nightmare the 
snoring gendarmes beside me, the closely cropped 
pate of a German prisoner beside Rader, the yank- 
ing of the chain, the entry of some peasant women 
made homeless by the war, and the vain pounding 
of others who sought refuge from the downpour 
outside. Those stolid peasant women sitting 
silent all night through beside the dim'' lan- 
tern with their shawls wrapped tightly over their 
heads will remain as long as I live a memory of 
what the great God of War does to the little 
atoms who happen to be in his path. 

Hopelessly — would morning ever come — I 
watched the first gray of another rainy dawn 



212 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

penetrate our jail and dim the flickering lamps 
into uselessness. After eternities life began to 
stir among the gendarmes. The peasant women 
filed silently, fatalistically out, — to what, I 
wondered ? For another hour, there was brushing, 
brushing of coats, trousers, shoes, till at last the 
uniforms were spotlessly clean and the atmosphere 
choked with dust. Through the window we 
could look up at the massive walls of the mag- 
nificent chateau of Pierrefonds, which I had always 
wanted to see, but which I little expected to see 
from jail. 

Finally came time for departure, whither we 
knew not, nor cared. Our fat, ugly little captain 
was bustling, sputtering about in high dudgeon. 
We soon saw that the drunken French soldiers 
were to be left behind. Then our manacles were 
removed and we were able to forego our Siamese 
twin relationship to resume our individual lives 
once more. Our bicycles, too, appeared myste- 
riously from somewhere. Evidently we were go- 
ing to push them. Nor did it matter much when 
one of the gendarmes conceived the ingenuous 
idea of letting out the air so we could not make a 



How a Spy would Feel 213 

break for liberty. Open air, exercise, a chance 
to get warm, no manacles, surely things were 
looking up — 

Till that beastly little captain came fussing 
around. Oh no, it would never do to let us go 
unmanacled, never, we must be shackled, oh, 
Mon Dieu, yes. I submitted resignedly, for by 
now I too was being convinced that I was a dan- 
gerous enemy to France. But then, to my horror, 
as a grand finale, that beastly little captain 
brought up one of the German prisoners and 
hitched him to the other end. That was too 
much. I knew what it would mean all along the 
way for a civilian to be tied to a German soldier ; 
the explanation was obvious. 

"But, Monsieur le capitaine," I protested, "we 
are Americans. This is not just. Also it is not 
safe." 

Like a burst of fire-crackers he flew into a rage. 

"Americans !" he shouted. "What does that 
matter ? Why didn't you stay at home t What 
business have you over here t We don't want 
you "... and so forth in too violent pyro- 
technics for my limping French to decipher. 



214 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Fortunately, I imagine, I couldn't remember 
a single phrase of French adequate to express my 
feelings. 

"Well, anyway," laughed Rader, with the first 
humor he had shown for some time: "I'm tied 
to a real man at least." 

So, powerless, we set out, pushing our flat- 
tired bicycles with our right hands, manacled 
each to a German prisoner with our left, and 
guarded by two mounted gendarmes. It was 
dark and lowering as it had been during all those 
ten fearful days of battle, but hardly had we got 
under way when it opened up in torrents. Our 
still wet clothing became wetter still, and it was 
a long time before we could drive any warmth into 
our shivering bodies. Mile after mile we strug- 
gled along till I began to wonder if we were going 
all the way to Paris. 

Everywhere we found evidences of a consum- 
ing anger towards the Germans and of the esti- 
mate of two civilians handcuffed to German 
prisoners. Peasant folk whose houses had been 
ransacked and emptied by the Prussians on 
their march to victory only two weeks before 



How a Spy would Feel 215 

saw our companions return as prisoners with 
a silence which was only too eloquent. Sadly, 
bitterly, with a burning hatred in their expres- 
sions, they came to their gates to watch us go 
by. 

Once, nearly exhausted, we asked our guards 
for water. We were just then approaching a 
little peasant house with a woman standing at 
her doorway. 

"Yes, Monsieur," she replied to our guard, 
"there's plenty for you, but for the prisoners, 
none." 

She stood stiff and defiant before her squalid 
little home. Her eyes were piteously cold and 
her whole body was restrained as though dis- 
daining to crush us with the punishment we 
deserved. An intensity of hatred such as I 
never dreamed could exist seemed to flow out 
against us from her stolid features. 

"But," replied the guard, "it is for them that 
I want it." 

"Not a drop," she replied in icy tones. "Not 
a drop. Let them, suffer. It will do them good. 
They can die of thirst for all I care." 



2i6 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"But, Madame," our guard insisted firmly but 
gently, "they are our prisoners. We must be 
human. They have walked far to-day." 

"What do I care V^ she retorted in rising anger. 
"Did they think of us when they came here .^ 
Did they bother about our suffering .? Look at 
my house, everything ruined, stolen, smashed. 
May God curse them. They'll die before they 
get water here, the beasts ! " 

Her anger was now red-hot. 

"But," again remonstrated the guard, "they 
are our prisoners. We are French. We must be 
humanitarian, even to them." 

"Humanitarian, ha-ha," she echoed the word 
with a terrible hollowness. "It will do them 
good to suffer. Where, I ask you, is my hus- 
band .'* What has happened to my three sons } 
Who is going to get in the harvest .? Who will 
restore my home .'' Give them water .? Ha-ha, 
Mon Dieu, never ! There is plenty where they 
came from." 

Her voiced mounted in a crescendo. The 
hatred of her whole soul was in her eyes. Her 
arms and hands seemed to crave action. She 



Hozv a Spy would Feel 217 

might have been a Honess about to spring. The 
guard dismounted. 

"Madame" — it was an order delivered with 
crushing dignity — "Madame, I command you 
to bring these prisoners water." 

A flash of burning anger shot from her black 
eyes. Her frame stiffened. All the horror and 
disgust which only a woman can feel to the limit 
surged out from her in revolt. 

But she met only the cold, stern eye of the 
guard. Slowly her whole being began to subside. 
It was like a brilliant flame gradually dying out. 
Somehow I could not but pity her in her acquies- 
cence to the helplessness of her situation. Surely 
it was another case of where women have to suffer, 
uncomplaining. Slowly she turned and was gone. 

"The women take it pretty hard," our guard 
remarked. "I guess they suffer too." 

Shortly she returned and held out the water 
from a distance as though not to be contami- 
nated. In very shame I told her that I was an 
American. She did not, could not, comprehend; 
the connection between the German and myself 
was far too close. 



2i8 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Silence hung heavy over our little party as we 
plodded on through the rain. Each deserted 
little village we came to I thought was our last, 
only to find we were to go through and out the 
other side. The poor chap I was manacled to 
was a simple soul, one of the great peasant mass 
which gives the German army its strength. By 
tremendous effort and considerable linguistic 
ingenuity we talked for a while of the great 
war. 

"The Kaiser," he said with soul-felt fer^^or, 
"is the greatest man in history, the saviour of 
Germany from the base intrigues of France, 
Russia, and England. He would do anything for 
his men, just as we would do anything for 
him. The war is the greatest war of self-defence 
in history, a war against the greed, jealousy, and 
revengefulness of the Allies." 

So well indeed had he learned his lesson. What 
puppets, I thought, men are ! How easily are 
their minds mesmerized by nationality, by leaders 
of their own blood ! It was the same rote, the 
same mechanical logic as among the French and 
English. 



Hozu a Spy would Feel 219 

"Mein frau," broke off the German, "mein 
frau," and he fell back into the real spirit of the 
man. Would I send word to her, just say he was 
alive? Yes, he had three "kinder." Would I 
really take her name and address and send her 
word 1 The war might last a long time ; he 
would be a prisoner all that period ; his wife 
would not know what had happened to him ; 
oh. It would be so kind if I would send her word. 
Poor chap, in the rush which followed the chance 
was lost. 

After eighteen kilometres, practically without 
stopping, we saw ahead of us the roofs of a good- 
sized town. Our guard said it was Villers- 
Cotterets, headquarters of the Fifth Army Divi- 
sion who had caught us on the Aisne. Running 
far out into the country, we encountered a 
long convoy resting for lunch, with hundreds 
of soldiers standing about and horses feeding 
near by. Hardly a man of that big crowd but 
flocked to the roadside to see us pass. Almost 
Immediately we were marching through a double 
line of soldiers holding all the way to the town 
itself. 



220 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"Espion, espion," they shouted at us. Rader 
and I in our civilian clothes were the cynosure 
of all eyes. "Les Boches" were almost forgotten. 

"Kill the dirty beasts," "you'll get what's 
coming to you" — etc. 

Several men slashed their fingers across their 
throats, making a long rasping noise at the same 
time and then holding their noses with one hand 
and gesticulating at us with the other. Another 
pointed a long, villainous-looking knife at his 
stomach and then began to laugh in wild glee. 
Many were silent ; many laughed ; many made 
either joking or insulting remarks. 

It was like sitting on gunpowder. I never felt 
sure but that someone would set a spark to the 
mob spirit, causing the hatred underlying that 
whole attitude to burst into flame. Handcuffed, 
with only two guards, we stood no chance at all. 
To be sure, I marched with as much assurance and 
with my head as high as I possibly could, and 
yet even at that I am afraid my eagle-scream was 
but a feeble peep. I was badly frightened. 

At last we arrived at the village itself. There 
an even worse reception greeted us. Civilians 



How a Spy would Feel 221 

who had lost their all during the German occupa- 
tion proved much more vicious than soldiers who 
had had the chance somewhat to relieve their 
feelings in actual battle. Fortunately I did not 
understand much of what was said, while my 
companions understood only the all-too-eloquent 
signs. Finally when it seemed we would never 
reach the end of that jeering, insulting crowd, 
when, hungry, thirsty, exhausted by lack of sleep 
and an eleven-mile march under manacles, chilled 
to the bone by rain and dripping clothes, it 
seemed we could go no farther, we arrived at the 
proverbial mairie. To our surprise we were un- 
shackled and the Germans rushed oif elsewhere, 
so quickly we could not learn the addresses of 
their wives. 

Rader and I were yanked off to headquarters. 
Down that same street by which we had entered 
we now passed unmanacled, but to my disgust 
most of the jeerers were in at lunch. A splendid 
old mansion served as the permanent home of our 
General and his staff, who went back and forth 
each day to field headquarters on the Aisne. 
Rader and I were led into the back-yard to the 



222 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

stable. He was put in a horse-stall and I in an 
old\]tool-house. There at last we came to rest to 
wait the next act. 

The place I was in was crammed to the door 
with old furnishings. A time-honored couch 
with stiff hair bursting out in several places was 
backed up against one wall, and a small table 
and collection of tools occupied the other. By 
good fortune I found a thin white blanket with 
a doubtful past and many holes, which served 
to wrap about my drenched person. There was 
no room to walk in, so for three hours I sat on the 
table in the darkness of my cold jail, my blanket 
wrapped about me, looking for all the world like 
a Buddha, and meditating on what a fool I had 
been not to have followed the advice of the gen- 
darme captain and stayed at home. 

Fortunately two Irish and a Scotch Tommie, 
who, separated from their regiment, were virtu- 
ally prisoners too, not only relieved our guards' 
suspicions and our own weariness, but more 
important still, brought us supper. Long after 
dark I was led over to the splendid stall-jail 
occupied by Rader. By now, we had learned 



How a Spy would Feel 223 

what "hit the hay" means and we lost no time 
in doing it. At last we had enough to get decently 
warm and were able to dry our clothes and thaw 
out a bit. 

A sick Moroccan, who showed almost no signs 
of life, moaned occasionally in the straw beside 
me ; and in the middle of the night a fool French 
soldier lay down at our feet. I found him very 
useful to warm my toes under, till suddenly Rader 
lengthened out and brought his shoe with a crash 
like the falling of a heavy cocoanut against the 
Frenchman's skull. Wildly the poor victim 
jumped to his feet like a jack-in-the-box, and for 
several minutes flung himself around pinwheel- 
fashion, shouting his head oif over our prostrate, 
semi-conscious forms till the whole building was 
awake. Then he left. 

That next day was awful. Never had I known 
the insanity of solitary confinement. Immedi- 
ately after a sunrise breakfast we were separated, 
and I was sent back to my Buddha's throne. 
Nothing to read, nothing to do, not even chance 
to join in a game of pitch-pennies among the sol- 
diers outside. The dull rumble of the battle of the 



224 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Aisne continued to come to us, and occasionally a 
French aeroplane whirred overhead. Along in the 
middle of the morning Rader's face appeared 
around the corner. 

"Hey," he said, "I'm going crazy. Why 
don't you telegraph Ambassador Herrick .f"' 

"Why, we've still got our passports, haven't 
we ?" I laughed. 

"Oh, cut it, I'm sick of this. Wire the Ambas- 
sador." 

"But, Phil," I teased, "how about Soissons?" 

"Shut up, for Heaven's sake, I didn't suppose 
we'd get into all this stew. If you don't wire 
Herrick, I will." 

"You can't," I replied. "You don't know 
French." 

"Oh, hell, that's what you always say. I 
haven't got a chance. I hate this beastly coun- 
try. Get me out of this and I'll take your word 
for anything." 

"All right," I said. " Wait a minute. I'm going 
nuts too." 

But my plan was not to wire the Ambassador. 
We had deliberately gotten ourselves into this 



Hozu a Spy would Feel 225 

trouble and had no right to call upon the Ambas- 
sador to get us out of it, 

I asked my guard to take me to the Captain of 
the day. To my surprise he did so without ques- 
tion. 

"Where did you come from.?" the Captain 
burst out. "Where are you staying.? What are 
you doing here .?" 

Briefly I told him I was nothing but a poor dog 
of a newspaperman, that I was tired of living half- 
fed, soaked, and manacled, in straw and horse- 
stalls, and that my greatest ambition in life was 
to get back to Paris. Naturally I did not bother 
to burden him with the fact that I had been caught 
by the staff officers abreast the Aisne. He set 
himself with vim to clear up the mystery. The 
General and his staff had gone back to the front. 
The gendarmes who had brought us had returned 
to Pierrefonds. The guards who had first received 
us had been shifted and sent to the firing-line that 
very morning at 6.30. No written record could 
be found. 

The Captain decided he would let us go. There 
was neither rime nor reason to it, merely a shrug 

Q 



226 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

of the shoulders. To my amazement they gave 
us back both camera and bicycles. I pleaded for a 
pass which he said was unnecessary. Every time 
I had heard that before, I told him, I had wound 
up in jail a few hours after and I did not at this 
time want to do any more first-hand investigating 
of French prison life. An English high-daddy 
standing near by interjected the cheerful news 
that he would have put us in a fortress till the 
end of the war if he had caught us. 

"That is exactly why we avoided the English," 
I retorted, as the Captain handed me our pass. 

Believe me, we lost no time in getting back to 
Paris. A long bicycle ride took us to Crepy, where 
we entrained for the capital. 

"Well," said Phil, "I guess there are some things 
about American passports, Soissons, and French 
jails that I did not know. Never again, believe 
me." 





VILLE DE VILLERS-COTTER^TS 



Laissc-i passer (My..'^4mi^r '^fn'lAc/- /^,^,,, 
demeurant a VILLERS-COTTERfiTS. % 



voyageant : A pied^_eiij>qiture^njncyclette, en 
chemin defer ou en automobile 



et se rendant d. 4c2:^'/V .^a'^_ y^/c<n^po^_ 



^otterets, le 22-S£P19H 1914 




M. Arthur Sweetser living at Villers-Cotterets " is freed 
once more to go to Paris. 



XI 

FROM FRANCE'S CALMNESS TO BEL- 
GIUM'S AGONY 

Paris now was a new city, tried, tested, and 
proved. The life and gayety were fast returning. 
The crowds which had fled in panic on the German 
approach were flowing back Hke a molten stream, 
pouring over the boulevards and into the side- 
streets. The barren, lifeless, deserted Paris, 
which, when I had left for the front two weeks ago, 
had lain sad as a sepulchre with the Germans but 
twenty miles out, had again become the city of 
crowds and excitement now that the apparently 
invincible "barbares" had been crumpled back 
to the Aisne. Such is the lightness of heart of the 
Parisian. 

Yet there was a difference. The Parisian was 
not the same as of old. The horror of those two 
weeks, the presence of the German military ma- 
chine in the suburbs of the city itself, had sobered 

227 



228 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

and subdued the people. Not a man but realized 
that the German coup had all but come off; not 
a man but now knew the battle was but half won. 
No one believed the mighty Prussian could break 
the bonds fast closing about him ; nevertheless 
no one forgot that 1,000,000 "Boches" still be- 
fouled the fair land of France. 

Panic had disappeared. The dread of annihila- 
tion had passed. The people had seen the army 
brought together, had seen it stand firm in its last 
trenches, had seen it blaze forth triumphant. The 
dawn of a new day, the recrudescence of France's 
national glory, the wiping out of the smirch of '70, 
were hailed on all sides. It was a new France that 
arose in the trail of von Kluck's retreat, for the 
scars of '70 and the chains of forty years of bond- 
age were tossed off in one mighty moral struggle. 
The nightmare of the half-century since that igno- 
minious defeat was dissolving in the dream of a 
new and better day than France had ever known. 

There was, however, no wild, unseemly exuber- 
ance of spirit. The Germans' narrow miss, set 
in the background of an unforgettable Sedan, 
made that impossible. France had something of 



France's Calmness and Belgium's Agony 229 

the air of a bull-dog which after much effort has 
finally got his teeth hard set in the vitals of an 
inveterate opponent. There was to be no relin- 
quishing, no letting up. Already winter supplies 
were being gathered together. Women all over 
the country were knitting socks and clothing. 

The patience of the people was marvellous. Still 
only the most meagre and colorless news escaped 
the censor. For eighteen days the Titanic struggle 
of the Aisne had been on, and yet it was difficult to 
piece together even the rough outlines of the battle- 
front. The war was one carried on in grim, 
deathly silence, and to the everlasting honor of 
France be it said that this nervous people waited 
patiently, uncomplainingly. There was but one 
protest and that the pitifully human one against 
interminable delays in getting letters to and from 
"nos petits" at the front. Some of the troops 
were known to have been under constant fire 
for four and five weeks, many of them un- 
doubtedly being prayed for weeks after they had 
been cast into an unmarked grave. 

Never has there been such a press campaign of 
bitterness and hatred. Never was nation so 



230 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

fiercely condemned as the German. "The sackers 
of Rheims and Louvain," "murderers of women 
and children, " were execrated with a fierce, unpar- 
alleled fury. With all the force of inherent skill 
fanned to genius by the passions of war, the 
French writers wrote and rewrote Belgium, 
Rheims, Louvain, till they were fairly glutted with 
tales of barbarity, cruelty, and bestiality. The 
German was represented as an unclean beast, 
aiming at the complete annihilation of everything 
French, from the superior civilization of to-day, 
which he had vainly tried to steal to the very 
soul of France as manifested in Rheims and the 
like. 

To me this was one of the most sickening sides 
of the war.. To see a huge nation of 45,000,000 
people feeding its soul on the most extreme 
unreasoned hatred was positively nauseating. 
The passions and anger then being burned into 
every Frenchman's soul will survive this generation 
and the next, will cast a fiendish laugh at interna- 
tional comity, the brotherhood of man, and the 
Hague. Frenchmen will get for years with the 
milk from their mothers' breasts the conviction 



France's Calmness and Belgium^ s Agony 231 

that the nation to the east of them is a nation of 
beasts and vipers. 

Italy too was a centre of attack. It was not 
enough that she did not hold to her alliance with 
Austria and Germany ; that she allowed France to 
withdraw her troops from the southern frontier; 
no, she must now knife her former ally in the back ; 
hurl her 2,000,000 soldiers against Austria. The 
Latin brotherhood, the centuries-old Austrian 
conflict, the prize of a reunited Trieste were urged 
and reurged. 

The United States, as in England, was being 
most jealously watched. Tremendous capital 
was made of American editorials favorable to the 
Allies and of the horror expressed at the destruc- 
tion of Louvain and Rheims. Our spiritual alli- 
ance was accepted as complete. Things English 
had become even more wildly popular than on my 
first visit. Even the unnatural marriage de con-^ 
venance with Russia was extremely popular; 
glorious Russian victories were chronicled, and 
people commonly felt that if France herself could 
not pull victory out of the fire, Russia's hordes 
would at last send the Kaiser tumbling to his 



232 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

knees. Servia was followed closely but with less 
enthusiasm than deserved, while Japan, filching 
like a ghoul from a dead man's body, was hardly 
mentioned. 

All this was interesting, tremendously so, but 
none the less pale and dim in comparison with the 
big events outside. The deadlock along the Aisne 
continued ; the Germans were just uncovering 
their incidental side-attack to clean up Antwerp. 
A few days' rest in Paris had put lots of enthusiasm 
back in me, and I decided that as I must soon be 
returning to the United States I would cross over 
to England via Belgium. At least I might learn 
something first hand of the never ending atrocity 
stories, and perhaps have a chance to see the siege 
of Antwerp. 

Fate decreed that my route should lie through 
Lille. It was now five weeks since my first trip 
there, and it was with deep foreboding that I set 
out to repeat it. I could not help thinking on 
saying good-by to Paris for the third time that 
at least I might run into a new kind of jail in 
Belgium. Somehow too, deep down within me. 



France'' s Calmness and Belgium'' s Agony 233 

I hoped that things would now be better. The 
first time I went out the thin little wedge of British 
soldiers who had been hurled to the Belgian border 
to make a screen for the French mobilization was 
being smashed to pieces on the Cateau-Cambrai 
line. The German avalanche was sweeping on in 
the flush of a wild excitement and all France seemed 
doomed. But now, since that time five weeks ago, 
the German bolt had been spent ; the two armies 
had settled down to a mole-like warfare ; panic 
had given way to dogged determination. 

In an incredibly short time our train passed out 
from life into desolation. The military activity 
about Paris, the barbed-wire entanglements, herds 
of cattle, and lines of guards faded away as in a 
dream as we entered the No Man's land over which 
the battle had ebbed and flowed. Deserted villages, 
abandoned farm-houses, miles and miles of heavy 
harvest sighing for the hand that would not reap, 
— all this over and over again as if stretching out 
into eternity. Occasionally we passed a lonely 
railroad guard who looked wistfully towards us as 
we rattled by, or a few last refugees trudging along 
the road with their pathetic bundles. Once in a 



234 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

while, too, a clumsy supply train could be seen 
lumbering slowly along or an aeroplane circling 
overhead in big sweeps through the sky, to show 
us the awful work was still going on out front. 
Otherwise the country had been left to bird, beast, 
and field. 

What a change from five weeks ago ! Then we 
had hitched and shunted our way through a seeth- 
ing medley of troops and ammunition trains, men 
shouting and calling, engines tooting, the grumble 
of heavy cannon in our ears. Just south of 
Marcoing we had been sidetracked while a huge 
army ebbed and flowed before us, and then after 
hours of waiting had turned around and fled before 
the advancing Germans in a wide sweep to Amiens. 
Everything was a seething, bubbling mass of 
uproar and confusion. 

But now — silence, drear, pitiful silence. What 
had happened to that flood of humanity .'' And 
what was now happening to us 1 Our train was 
barely moving ; we were picking our way cau- 
tiously over bridge after bridge which had been 
blown up and hastily rebuilt with heavy planks ; 
evidently we were coming to a city. When one 



France's Calmness and Belgium'' s Agony 235 

leaves Paris nowadays, It is indeed like shooting 
off into the blue. When and where you will arrive 
is entirely beyond the point. 

Someone said it was Amiens, that we were the 
first passenger train to enter since the Germans had 
evacuated the city a few days before. I wondered 
what the place would be like. Before, we had 
arrived at midnight. Train after train in long, 
unending stream had ground in and out. Head- 
lights had flashed, engines tooted, horses neighed 
and stamped in their rickety stalls, and hundreds 
of refugees walked aimlessly about or tried to 
sleep on the platforms. Crowds had cheered 
madly as French and English poured out for the 
front, and then as quickly melted Into sympathy 
as the wounded and dying came back in train- 
loads. 

But now — absolute, total desertion hung like 
a pall over the big, high-roofed structure and 
interlaced tracks. Not a person was to be seen, 
not a sound heard. The big Iron girders above 
and the empty tracks before us yawned as If in 
mockery of the life that had gone. Gingerly I 
made for the restaurant. It was locked and 



236 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

barred ; a man dozing on a chair outside woke 
up long enough to remark laconically : 

"Nothing for civilians." 

The station with its contrast in memory was one 
of the most morbid places I have ever been in. 
We could not leave it too quickly. Hours more 
we rode on, Heaven knows where, till at last we 
found ourselves way out at Boulogne on the sea- 
coast, exactly at right angles to Lille. From 
there we trundled on to Calais, where at nine 
o'clock I was at last able to get something to eat, 
two poor sandwiches and some beer. There we 
turned inland again, and finally brought up at 
Lille at 1 1 o'clock. It had taken thirteen hours for 
a four-hour run, but I could not find it in me to 
complain, for on the first trip we had taken 
twenty-four hours and had then wound up, not 
at Lille, but at Hazebrouck, twenty-five kilo- 
metres away. 

A crowd of refugees hung about the station with 
nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to think of 
but the dreaded Germans. The city had been 
rasped to a frazzle by the continual threat of 
occupation by the enemy ; for, in all the long time 



SUPREME APPPEL 

^ la Population Lilloise 



Dims Ic ras oil des cnvitliers alU'iiiands, (|uelc|iio irdiiil qu'eii 
soil lenr noiiihie, feini<Mil luu- incursion siir le (crfiloire de 
DOlrc Mile, nous lappcloiis i|u'auciin civil tin k droit dp ictir 
adresser aucniie injure ni provocalion swus peine de fournir 
un pretexle a des represailles sanglantes. Les tois de la jruerre 
son! Ibrnielles a eet egard. 

I'ne Ibis de plus, nous vous sup|)lions de rentrer cliez vous 
e( de ijarder votre sang-froid ! 

Melii<'/.-\ou> des agents provocateurs. 
CharTe.^.OELESALLE, Ch. DEBIERRE, 

' \>!'i' Senalcui- 

QVDELORY, H. QHESOUIERE, 

I'epiilf , IJepuli' 

SArNT-VENANT, PICAVET, 



For five weeks Lille had been rasped to a frazzle." 
See opposite page. 



France's Calmness and BelgiuyrC s Agony 237 

I had been gone, the Germans had been in heavy- 
force just outside and had once sent in a squad of 
Uhlans. Even as I entered, I read on all the walls 
official proclamations just posted by the Mayor 
that the formal surrender of the city was imminent. 

One of those which seemed to be most universal 
I was able to detach from an official bulletin 
board at considerable risk. It is reproduced on the 
opposite page, and may be translated as follows : 

" Supreme appeal to the population of Lille ! 
In case German horsemen, however small their 
numbers, make an incursion into our city, we call 
attention to the fact that no civilian has the right 
to do them any injury or give them any provoca- 
tion under pain of furnishing a pretext for bloody 
reprisals. The laws of war are strict in this matter. 

"Once more, we beg you to keep to your 
homes and preserve your sang-froid. Distrust 
provocateurs." 

The next day, it seemed as though all Lille were 
emptying itself southward in one great stream. 
Fortunately, I discovered a lone train at the 
station bound for Tournal, just across the border 
in Belgium, and I lost no time in getting on board, 



238 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

aided by a young French girl who picked an 
acquaintance with me and quite seriously pro- 
posed that I take her to the States. Such is the 
fraternity of war-times. After a short ride, a 
sixth sense which war seems to develop showed 
someone running off with my precious bicycle at a 
little way-station. To my surprise I found it was 
the Belgium customs, one of the last shreds of 
Belgian authority left. "I am an American" 
opened the country to me with mystic rapidity and 
we sped rapidly on to the danger-line. 

I have known fear several times during this war, 
but never had it been so subtle, so stifling, so all- 
pervading as it was after I had been in the little 
Belgian town of Tournai for an hour. It seemed 
as though the whole population of Belgium had 
been squeezed out from under the merciless Ger- 
man steam-roller and backed up into the town's 
little square. I had planned to bicycle on through 
the German lines, into Charleroi, Mons, Louvain, 
and Holland, but alas that I stopped ! Yes, the 
Germans were just outside ; ooh-la-la, anyone on a 
bicycle was shot first and examined afterwards ; 
Uhlans were all over ; and I had Paris papers 1 — 



France^ s Calmness and BelgiunCs Agony 239 

they were forbidden on pain of death — and a 
camera ? — oh, Monsieur, you would not Hve five 
minutes. I paused. 

The little square was choked with people. 
Everyone was shifting, moving nervously about, 
casting apprehensive glances towards the East, as 
though from that quarter some fearful ogre might 
spring. Wild, unreasoned terror electrified the 
seething mob. It was in the air ; it sprang from 
person to person ; it finally worked its way into 
me too. I glanced fearfully in the direction I had 
planned to travel. My two lunch companions, 
educated Belgian refugees, enlarged on stories of 
children cut to pieces, women disembowelled, a 
whole village put under the mitrailleuse — 

"They're coming." 

It rose up from the mob, a great wail. A new 
group of refugees brought word that the Germans 
were moving on the town in large numbers. The 
news spread like wild-fire. The ominous noise of 
a terrified mob rose louder and louder. People 
grabbed up their bundles and ran everywhere, 
helter-skelter. Some rushed to the open roads to 
the south and west; some jammed a four-car 



240 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

tram even to the roof; others surged over to a 
long train waiting with steam up in the station. 

In a twinkling the town had emptied itself. The 
square before me was completely barren. My 
two lunch companions had vanished into space ; 
only the waiter remained in what had been a 
crowded restaurant. Except for him I was the 
only living being about. What to do — I cer- 
tainly did not relish the idea of being there alone 
to welcome the whole German army. And my 
bicycle, my camera, my French newspapers 1 
Brrrh. The blind, unreasoned, psychological effect 
of mob fear surged over me too. My only desire 
was to run — to get away — to escape that terrible 
something in the air. I too crowded my way into 
the station and found room at last only in the 
baggage-car. I never wanted to see a German 
again. 

Slowly we hitched along. Every compartment 
was crowded to over-flowing with sometimes as 
many as fifteen people. Thousands were fleeing 
blindly, not knowing whither or caring, except 
that it was away from the scourge behind. They 
had abandoned everything but a few large bundles 



France'' s Calmness and Belgium's Agony 241 

of clothes or precious possessions snatched up at 
the last minute. They had left husbands, wives, 
children, friends, whose fates their imaginations 
pictured in most ghastly detail. There indeed 
was one of the most agonizing tragedies in all this 
agony-stricken land. Belgium might have been 
divided into two spheres, a little ragged, ill-trained 
army hopelessly, gloriously brave, and a seething 
homeless peasantry crazed with ' a fear which 
denied all reason. While the soldiers were flinging 
themselves forward to certain death with a smile 
on their lips, the ignorant, superstitious peasants 
were fleeing, pell-mell, vying with each other in 
ghastly atrocity stories and drinking In with 
avidity the most impossible reports of wholesale 
butchery, slaughter, and devastation. That the 
Belgian army stood up against this fearful panic 
is an eternal tribute in Itself. 

At last we arrived at Ghent, that beautiful 
historic city where almost loo years ago England 
and America made peace. Here too it was one 
great molten stream of sad, despairing refugees, 
pushed on from all over Belgium by the German 
tidal wave. A nervous, seething crowd throbbed 



242 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

about the big square before the station, now rush- 
ing to one side to watch a line of soldiers file by 
and off into the distance, now gaping vacantly 
at an aeroplane overhead, but always raw with 
terror and premonition. And as I picked my way 
through this human wreckage to the Hotel de 
Ville, I could not but hope that the English and 
French flags which were draped there on either side 
of the Belgian might bring rescue to this gallant 
little people who had dared to defend themselves. 

Just one more atom as I was in that trembling 
mob, I made straight for a big Stars and Stripes 
flying over the American consulate. , My first 
acquaintance there was an American lecturer, 
who, I am sure, was the only man in Europe be- 
sides myself to be wearing a straw hat. 

"Late for straws," I ventured. 

"Yes," he replied, "I guess we're the last ones 
left." 

"It's the last thing I got in Boston." 

"Good Heavens," he exclaimed. "That's where 
mine came from," and the labels showed they 
were bought within one hundred yards of each 
other. 



France'' s Calmness and Belgium^ s Agony 243 

"Where you been ?" I asked. 

"Nearly shot by the Germans for a spy," he 
repHed. "And you?" 

"Oh, the same thing by the French," and 
another war friendship was on. 

Consul van Hee then hove in sight and took me 
to another room. Like a thunderbolt he dropped 
me down before two American girls just as I was, 
dressed in rags and rough-and-tumble clothing. 
They were terribly — I use the word advisedly — 
terribly pretty ; tall, lithe, graceful, with beautiful 
coloring, and each wearing a pink and white 
sweater, a trig short skirt, and high tan tramping 
boots. They were indeed types of ideal woman- 
hood, bright, sparkling, vivacious. 

"Great girls," said van Hee. "Just come from 
Charleroi." 

"Charlerol!" I echoed dazedly. The word 
struck me cold, for at that time Charleroi was an 
Inferno, and all the hundred miles between were 
filled with men drunk with battle who knew not 
right nor chivalry. 

"Yes," laughed one, "we've just come from 
there." 



244 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

"But," I gasped, "how in Heaven's name did 
you do it ?" 

"Oh," she replied, "we walked. You see we'd 
been there eight weeks in the Red Cross and 
couldn't stand the strain any longer. We left 
Paris the minute war broke out and joined the 
Red Cross at Charleroi. First came the Belgian 
soldiers, then the French, then the English, then 
the bombardment. For three days they fought 
about the city while we lived underground. Then 
the Germans fought their way in — there were 
hours of street fighting — and finally they got con- 
trol. There was nothing we could do but stay; 
the wounded and dying were being poured in by 
hundreds ; and we were the only trained nurses in 
the city. No time for rest or sleep, always the 
same awful work, always on duty. After eight 
weeks we broke down. Finally we told the Ger- 
mans we simply must get away. They didn't pre- 
vent us, but they wouldn't do one thing to help us. 
They really did need us. We decided to go anyway. 
We packed a few clothes in knapsacks and set out 
on foot for Paris. Every now and then we got a 
lift, and here we are, eight days afterwards." 



France^ s Calmness and Belgium'' s Agony 245 

That indeed is the American girl. For two 
months they had borne the strain of nursing while 
the battle had raged round them. Then they had 
set resolutely out on foot, undaunted by the 150 
miles to Paris, the crowds of war-drunk soldiers 
on their route. 'Tis an unsung bravery indeed 
that carried these young and tempting women 
through. 

Mr. van Hee was so interested that he offered 
his automobile for a trip to Antwerp. Probably 
in no other way could we have entered that 
beleaguered city. Though none of us had passes 
the machine bore two large American flags and was 
widely known as the one thing other than bullets 
and shells which passed between the Belgian and 
German lines. Every few minutes along the rough, 
cobbled way we were held up by suspicious sen- 
tries with guns lowered and fingers on the trigger. 
Each time our chauffeur leaned out, motioned to 
the sentry, and whispered in his ear the one word : 

"Mons." 

That was all ; there was no scrutiny, no exam- 
ination ; that one word was the Open Sesame to 



246 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

the great city of Antwerp. Surely it was more 
mediaeval than modern — made me think, too, 
more of the absurd college fraternity than war. 
It was amusing to see that one word metamorphose 
the determined scowling face of a heavily armed 
sentry into a broad smile with ejaculations of 
"Bon, bon, bon." 

Miles and miles we went, past soldiers lounging 
about or cavalry all mounted for action, past 
trains of rapid-fire guns and supplies ; past 
tangled networks of barbed wire, fields of sharp- 
pointed stakes, and little woods cut down so that 
bullets but not horses might pass, embankments 
and subterranean shelters. Nature the whole 
length of the road to Antwerp had been perverted 
to the work of annihilation. Truly the traps 
which man sets for man are heinous. 

Ah, Antwerp, thou fair city, as your graceful 
spires came into view over the little harbor, what 
a prayer welled up within us that you at least might 
rest unsullied from the invincible conqueror who 
has devastated all your peaceful country. There, 
within your gates, you held the last of Belgium, 
King, government, army, and all, backed up in 



France^ s Calmness and Belgium^ s Agony 247 

the last and greatest stronghold after a struggle 
which will ring gloriously down through the pages 
of history. All that there was, all that there is of 
Belgium, was in your keeping. As we rattled 
across a rough pontoon bridge over the Scheldt, 
our hearts were indeed fast with you in your hour 
of trial. 

Strange indeed it was how Antwerp kept its 
natural expression, even in these most dire hours. 
The inexorable German army was even then 
pounding at the inner forts ; the eastern suburbs 
were closed by the bombardment, and yet there 
were but few signs of the intensity of the combat 
near by. Soldiers were strolling all about; Red 
Cross officials were moving busily around ; mili- 
tary machines honked their way through rather 
crowded streets to the outposts ; many stores were 
closed ; the lights were out at 8 o'clock ; but even 
at that there was at first nothing striking in the 
atmosphere. Only slowly did the grim spectre 
which lay behind become evident. Above all was 
a calmness almost of fatality which awoke in one 
a peculiar combination of premonition and acute 
grief. Everyone seemed grim and determined, as 



248 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

though the sufferings of recent weeks had steeled 
them to meet the future's worst. How bitterly 
affairs were going at the front was concealed from 
everyone, even newspapermen, and the thought 
that the city would be in German hands within a 
week was never entertained. So self-controlled 
did Antwerp seem that we decided to run back 
to Ghent to get back to the front from that direc- 
tion. Little did we dream that the Cathedral we 
admired so that night would see Zeppelins sail- 
ing about it and shells bursting around it only 
seventy- two hours later. 

'Twas midnight when again we saw the graceful 
spires and the rough pontoon bridge on our way 
back to Ghent. Behind us Antwerp lay calm and 
still in the moonlight. All lights were out, lest 
any prowling Zeppelin get in its dastardly work. 
'Twas an eerie sight and sad, for truly it seemed 
that no life moved within. 'Twas an eerie ride, 
too, which was to come. Our route lay through 
a dim, bluish moonlight, through long miles of 
dying camp-fires, where heavily blanketed men 
moved ghost-like about, trenches, barbed wires, 
and occasional neighing horses. Every quarter 



France^ s Calmness and Belgium'' s Agony 249 

mile or so, in spectral, uncanny way, a red lantern 
moved out into the road and a heavily armed 
sentry with shining rifle-barrel peered suspiciously 
through the semi-darkness. Again the magic 
word "Mons" passed us through with smiles and 
whispered ejaculations. Engraven on my memory 
for all time is the picture of that weak bluish 
light cast by a shimmering moon on cleared fields, 
trenches, entanglements, and the spectral figures 
of men with the back-ground of a city in its last 
stand for freedom. 



XII 

BELGIUM'S HOPELESS HEROISM 

The next day was in ways the most surprising 
of the many surprising days I had spent in Eu- 
rope. I still retained vivid memories of my war 
correspondent's experiences in France, of my 
being dragged about handcuffed, cooped up in 
jails, left to sleep in horse-stalls, on bare floors, 
in the open air, and otherwise convinced of my 
unpopularity. Indeed, I had been cured of any 
idea that correspondents were men, or to be 
treated in any way as human beings. Conse- 
quently, when some English correspondents, 
whom I had picked up at Ghent, invited me to 
go to the front in their automobile, to take a 
sightseeing tour, as it were, for the small sum of 
^5, it seemed as though I were in a dream. Cer- 
tainly we would be shot for our presumption. 

Still, I accepted. To my surprise they pro- 
duced a real automobile. I blundered in be- 
wildered. Even now as I write I can hardly 

250 



Belgium^ s Hopeless Heroism 251 

believe what I say. We left Ghent; we passed 
guard after guard ; we stopped ; we took pic- 
tures ; we rode wherever we wished ; we did 
whatever we desired. We set off in one direc- 
tion because we thought we could locate a battle 
there; we changed our course several times on 
getting advice nearer the front. In all grim 
reality, we were hunting a battle as though it 
were a spectacle. 

All the way It was a beautiful lowland, the 
rich, verdant lowland of Belgium, cut by regular 
lines of slim-trunked, high-tufted poplars and 
peaceful with the spell of the first breath of 
early fall. All the way, too, there were marching 
men, swift-moving cavalry, long trains of artil- 
lery and convoys, with always the distant grumble 
of battle humming like a dull background. We 
had absolutely no idea where we were. Modern 
battles cover so much territory and are so in- 
definite in line that you can chase one all day 
and then not recognize it when you come upon 
it. 

Suddenly, however, we came full upon four 
little field guns just swinging into action in a 



252 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

cabbage-field. The Pathe Freres movie man 
jumped out. 

"Howdy-do, Captain .?" he said in English to a 
Belgian officer whom he recognized. "Starting 
something ?" 

"Yes, you're just in time." 

"Wait a minute then, till we get ready." 

And the order to fire was held up till the pho- 
tographers had distributed themselves in strategic 
positions. That indeed was too much for me — 
I had to rub my eyes to see if I were really awake. 
If this had been France, we would by now have 
had guards with fixed bayonets behind us and 
a wild-looking official in front of us. Instead, 
the movie man turned to the Captain informally, 
and said : 

"All ready, Captain." 

"Fire!" rang out the order in whatever the 
French of it is. 

Four terrific crashes, four fiery flashes at the 
gun muzzles, four wisps of smoke, four barrels 
kicked violently back in recoil, four empty shells 
thrown out hot and smoking, four new shells slid 
into the breeches — and four more shells were 



Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 253 

off to the German trenches miles away. Round 
followed round, dully, mechanically, unemotion- 
ally. About the guns were small squads of men, 
dull, mechanical, unemotional. It might have 
been drill ; it surely did not seem real war. There 
was no lust of battle, no flush of strife. Blindly 
the gunners had set the machines to scientific 
calculations, which they did not understand ; 
equally blindly they loaded and reloaded against 
an enemy they had perhaps never seen. Probably 
no man there, except the Captain, knew what 
success they were having. Several miles away 
men were falling under the fleecy white puffs which 
followed every crash from the guns before us. 

It was a poor game after all. So far as we could 
see, all they were aiming at was a row of poplars 
100 yards ahead. Through that first line was 
a meadow ; beyond that a second line — that 
was all, except for one's imagination. Truly 
it was wearisome, that constant loading and re- 
loading, much as the din of the old Fourth of 
July becomes wearisome before the day is hardly 
on. We were standing in the middle of the road, 
smoking and discussing the futility of it when — 



254 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

Zz-z-z-z-z-z, a horrible, screeching, tearing, 
smashing sound slashed its way through the 
atmosphere overhead in a siren crescendo which 
crashed in a scattering explosion behind us. It 
might have been a giant express train catapult- 
ing through the atmosphere at stupendous speed, 
except that the high-pitched, vibrant noise of 
its passage was too entirely supernatural. It 
was so ugly, so vicious, so vindictive, that it 
seemed rather the death scream of some terrible 
fiend. 

I was too stunned by its suddenness and its 
horror to move from the spot where I had been 
idly smoking. I half expected the heavens to 
come clattering down on us through the rent 
overhead. 

"Hullo," said the Captain, putting his head 
out of a hut where he had taken shelter. "There 
are the Germans saying good morning." 

*'Yes," I stammered, "and I don't intend to 
stay till they say good night." 

"Don't worry," he replied. "It's not the ones 
you hear that do the harm. They're too far 
past. It's the ones you don't hear." 



BelgiuTu's Hopeless Heroism 255 

Thereupon I was obsessed with a desire to hear 
shells. Quicker than scat we had turned our 
automobile round and were making off fast down 
the road, leaving our little battery at its work, 
with the pretty certain knowledge that the next 
shell would strike nearer home. For some time we 
drove along in the lee of a twelve-foot embank- 
ment flanking the river Nethe, almost lost as to 
the location of the battle. Above it rose a tre- 
mendous dense cloud of coal-black smoke pouring 
up in billows from a large gasoline storage tank 
which had been fired by Belgian artillery as soon 
as the German forces had come up to it. 

Shortly we were stopped by sentries. How 
natural it seemed ! This idea of war correspond- 
ents running around in automobiles, chasing 
battles, with artillery captains holding their fire 
till the cameras were ready, was wearing on my 
nerves. But no, it was only to say that while 
we might go on if we wished, it would not be 
wise to do so. The Germans were for some strange 
reason bombarding the little town of Grambur- 
gen to powder, although the sentry assured us 
that not a solitary inhabitant, except possibly a 



256 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

few cats, remained. They were big guns that 
were at work, too. I timed several of those 
screeching monsters, catching one at ten seconds 
and another at thirteen from the time its siren 
first began till the final crash. Think of it, thir- 
teen seconds of hurtling death ! 

Suddenly I conceived the brilliant idea of climb- 
ing the embankment of the Nethe to see what was 
on the other side. Pandemonium burst out 
among the sentries ; several of them rushed for 
me ; I found myself in the middle of the road 
with the whole group gesticulating about me. 
The purport of it all was that the Germans were 
only seventy-five yards beyond ; that a head 
over the top of the embankment would have 
been a target for one hundred guns ; that the 
Teutons almost took another American's life. 
Such is the difficulty of locating "the front" 
nowadays. 

Anyway, I did not climb the embankment, nor 
did we go farther down the road. Instead we 
returned to the white, characterless town of Zele, 
where by good fortune was what purported to 
be an inn. It was just about far enough behind 



Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 257 

the lines for men to shake themselves free from 
the horror of battle and see Its real significance. 
I was sitting In a small parlor when a sous-officer, 
gray with mud and startlingly pallid, entered the 
room and dropped into a chair. 

"Pardon, Monsieur," he said to me. "May I 
rest here a moment V^ 

"Certainly," I answered; and after a pause, 
"It's pretty rough outside to-day, isn't it .^" 

"Mon DIeu, It's terrible," he replied. "Those 
Germans, ah — " 

He shuddered, and then looked resentfully at 
the small grimy window and its large heavy 
curtains. Suddenly he burst out : 

"That noise, always that noise — even in this 
quiet little room. They pound night and day, 
night and day till It seems as though I'd go crazy. 
Can't I ever get away from It — can't I ever 
get where I won't hear those guns again ?" 

"You're just back.?" I ventured. 

"Yes," he replied wistfully, "and I almost 

wish I weren't, almost wish I'd stayed out there 

with Jacques. Jacques was my best friend. 

Monsieur, — he is dead now — yet I wonder If 

s 



258 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

he isn't better off? At least he won't always 
have to remember." 

His head fell into his hands. It seemed during 
a long silence as though he were sobbing, then 
he murmured : 

"Ah, Monsieur, what a ghastly thing war is ! 
How brutal ! What things it makes us do ! Two 
days ago I was happy — now I can think of noth- 
ing but Jacques, hear nothing but that roar. 

"You see it was night before last at midnight 
that they got us out to dig a trench. There was 
Jacques, who had been my best friend for years, 
myself, and about 1 20 others. We worked with 
terrific speed, for we only had a few hours before 
dawn. « ' 

" Before we were half done it began to get gray. 
Suddenly there was an awful crash. Then the 
hellish jip-jip-jip of a machine gun. We all 
dropped where we stood in the half-dug trenches, 

— Jacques and I were together — and in a 
second we saw the Germans had caught us from 
both ends. There wasn't anything we could do 

— to have tried to run would have been sure 
death — so we squashed down into the half-dug 



Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 259 

holes. I remember digging with my hands — 
burrowing like a mole to get myself underground 
and away from that ghastly fire. Any way I 
lay part of me was exposed, and it seemed as 
though any second might be my last. Hours 
and hours those guns kept going. 

"Suddenly there was a little gasp beside me. 
Jacques crumpled all in, limp and strengthless. 
I spoke — then I turned up his face. Ah, Mon- 
sieur, it was the look I had learned too well 
recently, — and yet to have it come to Jacques 
— mon Dieu, it was too much. 

"And the Germans kept right on with that 
hellish noise. It seemed as though they might 
have let up for a few minutes — it would have 
been a little thing to have done — and I thought 
I'd go wild with fury that they didn't. I started 
burrowing again — I thought I'd never get away 
from it. Then my eye fell on poor Jacques — 
no, I couldn't do it — it was too much — and yet 
why not — it meant no harm to him now, poor 
lad, and I knew he'd want me to. 

"Monsieur," he continued almost in a whisper, 
"I pulled Jacques up carefully from the hole 



26o Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

he'd been in and doubled him up between me and 
the Germans. He'd done me many a good turn 
in life, yet how, I've asked myself ever since, 
could I have asked this of him in death ?" 

His voice broke, then — 

"Heaven knows how long we lay there, Jacques 
and I — it seemed years. Several times there 
was a thud against the cold body beside me and 
each time I thought I'd go crazy. If only I 
could jump into the air, dance feverishly about, 
and then crash into that machine gun with poor 
Jacques. 

"Then at four o'clock in the afternoon came 
the order to retreat, twelve hours afterwards. 
Somehow they'd got the Germans out and we 
had a few minutes' chance. I moved Jacques 
back and fixed him as well as I could. Then 
we ran — and when we united in the little wood 
some way behind, there were only twenty-two of 
the one hundred and twenty left. 

"Ah, mon Dieu, to think of those twelve hours 
— and of what I did to Jacques. I wonder if 
it's true — certainly it isn't possible I could 
have profaned him in that way. Yet I know it 



Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 261 

is — I did it — I know I did it — can I never 
forget?" 

It was enough to make one's heart bleed, that 
shaking, dust-covered head and shoulders and 
the grim silence broken only by quick breathing 
and the ever present rumble of the guns. I 
could not but feel that here was another of those 
several million men who have experienced psy- 
chological and spiritual shocks in this war which 
would have made it far better if they, too, could 
have fallen as Jacques fell on the spot where they 
received their fatal wounds. How much, I won- 
dered, will Europe be retarded when all these 
men return home to live in mental anguish and 
to cause it, to continue on as mental derelicts, 
and to pass on their sufferings to those about 
them and their children ^ Such is the poison of 
war. 

Glad indeed I was when it came time for 
luncheon. About the big table were nine Belgian 
officers, men who exemplified a bravery so help- 
less, so tragic as to make one almost cry in pain. 
During a pause I asked : 

"Do you think the Germans will take Antwerp V^ 



262 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

A stillness fell. Then slowly one of them re- 
plied : 

"Monsieur, the Germans get anything they 
want." 

Not an officer protested ; not a man spoke. 
A pin could have been heard falling. The silence 
was sacred.. Shortly the officer lifted his eyes, 
and, racked with emotion, said : 

"But, by God, it will cost them dear." 

Such was the spirit of the Belgian army. Such 
was the knowledge of its men on the firing-line, 
who still fought like tigers, even when they knew 
how hollow was the world's belief that Antwerp 
was impregnable. The height of utter self- 
sacrifice shown in those few words dulled the 
rest of luncheon till all of us were glad of its 
completion. 

Even yet I felt odd at being at large. It 
seemed I ought, instead of dining with officers, 
to have been munching war bread in a horse-stall 
with sentries glowering in at the windows. The 
climax, however, was now to come. Two officers 
asked if I wouldn't like to see the country. We 
entered a church, climbed up and up the cold 



Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 263 

stone stairway of the steeple, up the wooden lad- 
der of the upper belfry, to stand finally at the very 
apex. Belgium lay before me, a rich, smiling, 
checkerboard country, the Scheldt wandering in 
the foreground, two burning villages beyond, and 
Antwerp far on the sky-line. And beside me 
were two men who did not think me a spy, two 
men who trusted me so fully as to give me their 
field-glasses, in order to see the better. Could 
this, I wondered, be war "i Yes, emphatically 
yes, when a hubbub in the street below called us 
down lest we attract the German shells to the 
tower. 

That afternoon for the first time I saw joy in 
stricken Belgium. It was when we entered an 
ill-kempt, drear little village right in the heart 
of the fighting-zone. There was every reason for 
despondency. Heaven knows, for German shells 
and German soldiers might come at any moment. 
And yet there were hundreds of people about. 
The streets were crowded. Everyone was 
laughing, smiling, talking. People who for days 
had huddled panic-stricken in their homes, who 
had thought of nothing but blood, rapine, and 



264 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

death, came forth from hiding-places as if to face 
the sunrise of a new day ; faces which for weeks 
had shown naught but anguish and misery were 
lit up with a happiness which fairly spiritualized 
the whole motley unkempt crowd. Positively it 
was uncanny. 

We honked our way through the crowd who 
cheered enthusiastically at the Union Jack on 
our radiator. The little square in the centre of 
the village was jammed solid. We got out of 
the machine and forced our way in among the 
people. Ah, Tommies ! English armored motor- 
cars ! Heaven be praised ! Great Britain had 
come back to Belgium ! How big, how cheerful, 
how inspiring those few khaki uniforms looked ! 
What a warmth and radiance glowed over the 
whole scene ! 

Positively we thrilled till the tears almost came 
to our eyes. Little Belgium, smashed and 
crushed into its last stronghold, alone against an 
overwhelming enemy, might now see rising be- 
hind it the might and power of the British Empire. 
The bleeding Belgian army could once more 
struggle to its feet and acclaim itself a fighting 



Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 265 

force. The utter desperation which had settled 
upon Belgium when the British and French had 
fled precipitately from Mons and Charleroi was 
now at least lightened. It was not the actual 
force of the five Rolls-Royce mitrailleuse ma- 
chines before us ; it was the power for which they 
stood. Nor did the Belgians mistake this fact, 
not even the pretty Belgian maidens who brought 
out tea to their strange phlegmatic guests. And 
whatever be said of Churchill's 9000 marines, 
let it ever be remembered that 50,000 Belgian 
soldiers retreated out of Antwerp with the knowl- 
edge that their struggle was not a lone one. 

It was dark when we got back to Ghent that 
night, but the atmosphere we found there was even 
darker. Waelheim and Catherine St. Woevre 
were crumbling before the German attacks. The 
fall of Antwerp was being spoken of as a real 
possibility. All next day, even as British marines 
rushed through Ghent and British aeroplanes flew 
overhead, the exodus was beginning. The roads 
were filled with refugees fleeing wildly before the 
German avalanche. Parts of the army passed 
through Ghent, on foot, in automobiles, by train. 



266 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

The last chapter in a heroic fight was being 
written. To my eternal regret I did not realize 
it at the time. There were signs, all sorts of 
signs, but none of them conclusive. All the 
correspondents, too, who had been there since 
the war started, assured me Antwerp could not 
fall inside months. Just at that time I fell sick 
of a sharp fever. The horror of it all, the constant 
suspicion, the danger, the longing for home and 
friends, surged over me. My work seemed done ; 
it would not be right to spend weeks on the chance 
of seeing Antwerp fall. 

The next day I joined the army of refugees 
flowing through Ghent to the coast. After hours 
of discomfort on a cattle-pen train, crammed with 
home-sick, grief-stricken, countryless people, 
with troop trains rushing alongside and a pro- 
cession of aeroplanes overhead we arrived at 
Ostend, — Ostend, once the fashionable, now the 
anguishing. Still another tragedy of all Bel- 
gium's insufferable tragedies swept over me here. 

I was standing before the ugly rent made in a 
parkway by a German bomb, talking with a 
cultured Belgian whose roof had been burned 



Belgium's Hopeless Heroism 267 

over his head up-country, and who had lost 
wife, children, and friends. 

"Ah, God, if this were all the Germans had 
done," he said. "If it were only physical de- 
struction — but, Monsieur, it is that deeper 
thing, that seering of our national soul, that is 
the worst curse they have brought us. You 
know, of course, of the numbers of Germans liv- 
ing in Belgium — of how we've taken them into 
our homes, our confidence, our government, and 
treated them exactly as if they were of our very 
own family. You find them in high positions in 
the army, in the cabinet, in business, everywhere. 
And you know how they betrayed us at the open- 
ing of the war t" 

"Not wholly," I answered. 

"Well," he went on, "you remember how after 
the murder of the Arch-duke all Europe began to 
arm itself for the inevitable struggle. King 
Albert saw the writing on the wall and he begged 
his ministers to get the country ready. But the 
Germanophiles in the government stood out against 
him. He pleaded, he argued, he reasoned, but 
to it all they answered, 'There's nothing to it.' 



268 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

So Belgium drifted on — the king powerless 
against those who did not want to see. Even as 
ultimatums flashed back and forth, as mobili- 
zation orders followed in rapid succession, he could 
not get action. 

"Then came a letter to the Queen. She's a 
daughter to the King of Bavaria, you know, and 
was told by her father that it was urgent she leave 
Belgium at once. No reason was given — nor was 
one necessary. It was a terrible situation for 
her — her father and land of birth on one side — 
her king and husband on the other. She chose 
the latter and gave her father's letter to the king. 

"He at once issued hurry orders for an emer- 
gency meeting of the ministry. Almost sobbing 
with anguish he read them the letter. A hush 
fell upon those who had not heeded him, and in 
the stillness, the king said: 'Gentlemen, for 
God's sake give me action.' It could no longer 
be delayed ; the damage was done ; the ministry 
concurred. Orders flew back and forth, but alas 
too late. The Germans and German sympathizers 
in the government had held them up just long 
enough. When the German army entered the 



Belgiurri's Hopeless Heroism 269 

country a few days later, they found it unpre- 
pared ; they found the way blazed out for them 
by their own agents ; they found their success 
assured by the men who had won Belgium's con- 
fidence only to betray it." 

Another time I talked with an artillery officer 
who had been fought back inch by inch all the 
way from Liege through Namur and Charleroi 
to Antwerp. 

"Namur.?" he asked with downcast face. 
"Oh, I can't talk about it. It's too terrible, too 
unbelievable. I was there — God knows how I 
got away — God grant I may forget about it. 
You wonder that it stood out only four days t 
I only thank God it wasn't worse. 

"There are a whole lot of German officers in 
our army, and some of them in high places. 
There was one fort at Namur — it was the key 
position — and if it fell, the whole thing would 
go. The Germans had taken positions around it 
and had hammered it pretty hard, when one day 
a big gray automobile drove up under a flag of 
truce. Pretty soon the officer in command of the 
fort went out to it with his staff. To everyone's 



270 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

horror he shook hands with the German officers 
inside, and then got into the machine with them. 
Turning to his staflF, he said : 

" ' Gentlemen, you are all prisoners of war. This 
position with its garrison has been surrendered,' 
and the machine bore him off. 

"The staff," my friend continued, "rushed back 
to the fort. They tried to telephone headquarters, 
but all the telephone wires had been cut. They 
tried to organize resistance, only to find that the 
exhaustion of their munitions had been concealed 
from them. Then they found a note saying that 
the Germans had been allowed to take command- 
ing positions on three sides. The fight was made 
hopeless for them, but not a man would surrender. 
There was nothing to do but for as many as could 
to hack a way through. Only a very small rem- 
nant of that garrison lived to tell of it." 

These were the same stories I had heard all 
through Belgium — betrayal, espionage, corrup- 
tion, treason. Heaven knows if they were true, 
the important thing was that on everyone's lips 
were rumors of betrayal by German residents and 
agents; rumors of treason by German officers 



Belgium'' s Hopeless Heroism 271 

in Belgian service ; rumors of bribery and intim- 
idation of Belgian peasantry. There was no 
tragedy more awesome than this anguish of 
national soul and spirit ; no horror more horrible 
than this unsuspected cancer within. That the 
Belgian army stood up against it, stood up against 
civilian panic, stood up against hopeless odds and 
still smiled, is a tribute which makes a glorious 
struggle doubly glorified. 

It was with heart almost bursting with grief, 
sympathy, and veneration that I went the next 
morning to the harbor front. 

My boat was scheduled to sail at 8, but even 
when I arrived at 6.30 there was a stream of 
refugees choking the long wharf and passageway 
far into the street. In the hour and a half be- 
fore the boat sailed, I progressed halfway from the 
end of the line to the gang-plank, only to see the 
boat go out without me. Fortunately, however, 
a second boat went out at 9. Fully 2000 refugees, 
none of them with more than a small bundle of 
clothing, jammed the little ship, A mysterious 
cannonading still wafted out to us from blood- 
soaked Europe off Dunkirk; a lane of six British 



272 Roadside Glimpses of the Great War 

torpedo boats guided us to the land of safety. All 
about me on the boat was the quietude and solitude 
of a deep anguish. It was indeed almost a fu- 
neral ship that I was on, for it was witnessing the 
burial of all the hopes of those whose lives had 
been uprooted. The cliffs of Dover that day 
looked down not on the joys of immigrants en- 
visaging a new land, but on the pains and suffer- 
ings of those whose hearts clung only to the old. 

When we landed at Folkestone, we found that 
the relentless German maw had that day cast up 
9000 wrecked and shattered lives on England's 
shores. 



Printed in the United States of America. 



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